M88A17 


i 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


. 


SELECTIONS 


THE  POETICAL  WRITINGS 


OF    THE    LATE 


S.    MOORE, 


DISTRICT   OF    COLUMBIA, 


WASmNQfON : 

PUBLISHED   BY   FRANKLIN   PHILP. 
THOMAS    McQILL,    PRINTER. 

1859. 


PS 

a^ 

tf  1 82/1/7 


DEDICATION. 

This  volume  is  respectfully  dedicated  to  the  relatives  and  friends  of  the  lamented 
author.  The  Poems  are  selections  from  those  which,  with  few  exceptions,  have 
already  been  published  in  magazines  and  newspapers.  They  are  the  productions  of 
early  youth  and  mature  manhood ;  and  each  and  all  of  them,  whatever  may  be  their 
poetical  defect,  are  at  least  calculated  to  influence  the  heart  of  the  reader  with 
virtuous  emotion. 


CONTENTS 


THE  SPHYNX,  .  •        <  -~ 

DEATH  OF  THE  PCRB,        .  .          .'  . 

THE  SABBATH,  .  .  . 

AT  THE  SEPULCHRE,          .  .,.          '  .' 

JACOB'S  VISION,          .  . 

A  CHILD'S  PRAYER,  .  .  . 

PRAYER,  .  .  .  ..   ' 

To  MY  SISTER  MARY,        .  .  . 

CHARITY,        •  .  .  .  . 

GALILEE,    .  .  .  .  . 

LEAVING  THE  ARK,      .         -  .    ;        . 
EUTH,  .  .  .  . 

PAUL  ON  MARS'  HILL,  ;  -         . 

XERXES,      .  .          .  .    '  . 

CHERISH  EARLY  FEELINGS,      .  . 

MUTABILITY,          .  -  .  .         . 

WOE  TO  JERUSALEM,  ... 
THE  MOTHER  AND  HER  THREE  CHILDREN, 
COMMUNION  WITH  THE  DEAD,  . 

LEONORE,   ..... 
NEW  YORK.  CITY,        .  .          <  . 

AMERICA,  THE  LAND  OF  MY  BIRTH,         . 
THE  UNWILLING  BRIDE,         .  . 

LOVE'S  CONSECRATIONS,     ... 
To  A  YOUNG  FRIEND,  .  . 

THE  STARS,  .... 

To  THE  SOUTH  WIND,  . 


CONTEXTS. 


RAIN  IN  MAY, 
Tu«  AUTUMN  MOON, 

WINTER  SCKNE,   . 

EVENING  Soxo, 

NOBILITY  or  GENIUS, 

UNCONSCIOUS  BEAUTY. 

la  THX  DESERT,    . 

To  MILLIE,      . 

To  THK  WIND, 

To  A  CRICKET, 

THX  WORLD  A  GARDEN,    . 

EVALEEN, 

THE  PETITION  or  THX  BIRDS, 

THE  TRULY  GREAT  MAM, 

To  A  CANARY  BIRD, 

THE  OCEAN'S  ARCHITECTS, 

THE  VESPER  BELL, 

To  THE  SEA,  .  .  . 

SONG  or  THE  WAVES, 

To  THE  HUDSON,         .  ' 

PALE  HERO, 

ECHO,  .  -    . 

SONG, 

THE  DEAD  SKA, 

PRAYXR, 

To  THK  EAGLE, 

FANCIES  ON  A  SEA  SHKLL, 

RHYMES  FOR  MAY,      .  , 

A  CLASSIC  SONG  OP  WINTER, 


MOB. 

54 

67 
59 
62 
64 

,•„, 
68 
71 

n 

75 

77 

79 

81 

83 

84 

86 

87 

89 

90 

91 

M 

95 

97 

98 

101 

102 

103 

105 

106 


POEMS 


SOLEMN  amidst  the  sands  of  the  old  Nile 

Stands  the  far-famed  Sphynx,  with  undiverted  eye, 
Still  gazing,  patiently  and  mournfully, 
O'er  the  Egyptian  wilderness.     No  smile 
Illumes  her  bartered  visage,  but  a  look 
Of  godlike  melancholy,  not  despair, 
Which  the  forgotten  sculptor  chiseled  there, 
Makes  her  majestic.     Her  creator  took 
A  deep  glance  in  the  future  when  he  traced 

Such  noble  grief.     His  eye  pierced  coming  times, 
Read  the  vicissitudes  of  wars  and  crimes, 
Beheld  great  cities  dwindled  to  a  waste. 
And  Egypt  crushed,  in  turn,  with  many  a  foe  : 
Therefore  he  made  the  Sphynx  a  grief  for  all  that  woe. 

The  great  Eiconoclast  of  every  age, 

Relentless  time  has  spared  her  wondrous  form ; 
The  rending  earthquake,  and  the  gnawing  storm 

Have  reverenced  her,  and  turned  aside  their  rage. 


THE  SP1IYXX. 


I  leaven's  lightnings  and  the  mimic  bolts  of  war 
Il;ive  not  o'erthrown  her,  nor  the  ruthless  bands 
Of  barbarism  thut  have  scoured  these  latnl>. 
Tin-  prey  of  many  a  savage  conqueror, 
The  mighty  offspring  of  a  buried  race, 
She  still  survives  to  he  their  monument — 
An  orphan  of  the  past,  upon  whose  face 
The  grief  of  centuries  is  stamped:  content 
To  mourn  thus  mutely  conscious:  while  she  grieves, 
The  wind  her  cerements  of  the  Nile  sand  weaves. 

I  often  think,  (and  every  man  thus  thinks, 
Incited  by  a  restless  heart  and  mind,) 
What  pleasure  'twould  be  in  these  dark  days  to  find 

Some  (1'Mipus  to  match  that  wondrous  Sphynx — 
The  mute,  dread  future,  who  sits  passively 

In  the  dark  cloud  of  undeveloped  years, 

Alike  regardless  of  our  smiles  or  tears; 
Nor  solves  this  present  life's  least  mystery, 
I'ntil  each  act's  accomplished — good  or  ill — 

That  makes  our  destiny.     We  may  he  1 
And  make  the  elements  subserve  our  will, 

Or  tell  of  perturbations  in  the  skies, 
Vet  never  know — so  small  our  wisdom's  use — 

What  eh  a  nire  in  us  a  moment  may  produce. 

x 

Therefore  we  each  should  lead  an  honest  life; 
Honor  and  virtue  our  continual  aim, 
And  only  envious  be  of  godlike  fame — 


THE  SPHYNX. 


That  glory  which  we  may  obtain  in  strife 
With  human  vices  and  depraved  desires, 

Which  creep,  like  serpents,  into  every  breast, 

And,  if  not  strangled  soon  or  dispossed, 
Etegtroy  the  heart  with  slow  devouring  fires. 
Let  us  unwaveringly  our  tasks  pursue, 

Nor  let  perplexing  cares  our  peace  invade  ; 
Still  confident  that  whatsoe'er  we  do 

Is  from  the  eternal  throne  of  heaven  surveyed, 
Where  justice,  sitting  as  a  sovereign  lord, 
To  each  allots  his  labor  and  reward. 


10  THE  DEATH  OF  Till!  I'l  KK. 


JUutb  of  tbt 


OFT  have  you  seen,  after  the  summer's  ruin 

Had  passed  beyond  you,  with  the  threat  'ning  cloud, 

A  rainbow  rise,  like  arch  triumphal  proinl, 
Over  the  earth,  its  hills,  its  fields  of  grain, 
And  o'er  the  busy  town,  where  from  their  home 

The  happy  children  looked  with  charmed  eyes; 

Yet  in  brief  time  it  vanished  from  the  skies  — 
Melted,  unstained,  into  the  azure  dome. 
Even  so  some  peerless  souls  in  sorrow  born, 

Have  through  the  world  gone  thus  radiant  with  tears, 

Delighting  many  by  their  gentleness, 
Nor  hence  by  death  been  violently  torn  ; 

But  they  have  faded  to  their  glorious  spheres, 

Unsullied  by  the  touch  of  earthlim  •—  . 
j 


THE  SABBATH.  11 


_ 

THIS  is  the  day  of  rest ! 
The  toil  and  trouble  of  six  days  are  done, 

And  universal  nature  takes  repose 
Beneath  the  glory  of  the  Seventh  Day's  sun, 
From  dawn  to  evening's  close. 

This  is  the  day  of  praise  ! 
Clearly  above  the  all-pervading  calm 

Resounds  the  solemn  summons  of  the  bells ; 
And  on  the  air,  blent  with  the  full-voiced  psalm, 

The  organ's  thunder  swells. 

• 

,     This  is  the  day  of  peace ! 
To-day  be  still  all  soul-annoying  strife  : 

To-day  let  every  warring  passion  rest, 
And  all  the  keen  anxieties  of  life 

Be  banished  from  the  breast. 

How  blessed  is  the  day  ! 
To  travellers  amid  the  desert  bare, 

Not  more  delightful  are  the  oases, 
Whose  cooling  springs  make  music  in  the  air, 

Whose  palm  trees  whisper  peace. 


•[  ill. 


How  blessed  is  the  day  ! 
'Tis  a  green  inland  in  a  dangerous  sea, 

To  which  poor  men.  <»f  every  storm  the  sport, 
May,  never  doubting  of  security. 

Like  battered  ships 


This  is  the  day  of  rest  ! 
Behind  this  rampart,  free  from  fear,  repose 

And  gather  strength  and  Courage  for  the  fray 
To-morrow  brings  the  struggle  with  those  foes 

That  wear  our  lives  awav. 


AT  THE  SEPULCHRE.  13 


lljc 


WHEN  to  the  grave  the  Marys  sped, 
They  thought  to  find  Him  with  the  dead ; 
But  gazing  in  the  open  tomb, 
They  saw  but  grave-clothes  and  the  gloom. 

For  them  th'  Anointed's  life  had  been 

A  mvsterv  to  its  latest  scene  ; 

" 
A  mystery  for  which  the  mind 

/ 

No  clear  solution  e'er  could  find. 

/ 

When  in  His  garb  of  death  involved, 
v      •  • 

They  deemed  the  mystery  resolved ; 

To  them  He  seemed  but  human  then. 
Since  He  had  suffered — died  like  men. 

But  yet  the  marvels  were  not  past ; 
The  greatest  and  the  best  were  last ; 

One  life  all  wonderful  was  done, 

( 

And  one  more  wondrous  still  begun. 


Death,  like  the  obscurity  of  night, 
Awhile  concealed  the  Christ  from  sight, 
That  He  might  more  transcendent  shine. 
More  pure,  more  perfect,  more  divine. 


14  JAO»llV 


Jacob's    t'ision. 

As  evening  settle.-  (••»<.!  ainl  irrnv 

Upon  the  oriental  plain. 
Worn  with  his  wanderings  tlinuiirli  the  day. 
Along  the  solitary  way 

The  lonely  traveler  seeks  repose, 

Nor  summons  sleep  in  vain. 
His  eyelids  on  the  landscape  close : 
The  flowing  stream,. the  silent  palm, 
The  moon  just  sinking  in  the  wot. 
The  winking  stars  that  never  rest, 
The  scene  of  solitude  and  calm 

Fades  from  the  weary  stranger's  si«:ht. 
And  earth  and  he  have  parted. 

How  blest  was  his  rest  that  night ! 

How  blest  was  the  dream  that  made 
The  slumberer  joyful  hearte<l  ! 

lie  saw  a  ladder  lifted  high, 

That  stretched  from  earth  into  the  sky. 
And  in  their  glorious  robes  arrayed. 

Or  up  or  down  the  shining  road. 

Passed  the  fair  ministers  of  God ; 
Then  upward  all  to  heaven  ascended — 
And  so  the  brilliant  vision  ended. 

A  \i>iou  >m-h  as  this  have  \ve. 
That  not  with  closed  eyes  we  see; 


JACOB'S  VISION.  15 


Like  the  Assyrian  of  old, 
Forever  day  and  night  behold — 
A  ladder  unto  heaven  extending 
On  which  the  angels  are  descending. 

Upon  their  missions  manifold  : 
They  bring  sweet  solace  to  the  breast 
With  many  a  heavy  grief  oppressed ; 
They  nerve  the  arm  with  double  might 
That  toils  in  misery's  despite ; 
They  cheer  the  heart  whose  earthly  trust 
Is  buried  in  the  graveyard  dust; 
They  whisper  hope  unto  despair, 
And  point  to  heaven  for  mercy  there. 

And  yet  not  here  their  tasks  are  done : 
One  mission  still — a  final  one — 

With  tears  of  rapture  they  fulfil 

Their  own  dear  wish — the  Father's  will. 
For  many  a  soul,  from  sorrow  freed, 
Along  the  shining  path  they  lead — 

Lead,  on  the  ladder  from  the  skies, 

Far  upwards  into  Paradise. 
Oh  !  such  a  ladder  is  that  we 
Even  in  our  waking  moments  see  ; 

And  many  who  were  once  below, 
The  idols  of  our  hope  and  love, 

Have  by  that  brilliant  path  we  know 
1'a-srd  to  the  land  above. 


16  \   rill  I.I/S   I'KAYER. 


(fbilb's  |lrawr. 


lie  \\itli  me  still  by  night  and  day. 

And  firmly  fix  my  thoughts  on  thee. 
That  when  death  nune-.  a-  -<>i>n  lie  may 

My  s<»ul  nn  more   of  earth  shall  Ke. 
But  shall  with   joy  this  world  resign 
To  meet  thee  in  that  heaven  of  thine. 


FATHER,  Eternal,  hoar  tin-  prayer 

Which  from  these  suppliant  lips  doth  rise  ; 

Let  not  my  words  be  spent  in  air, 
But  mount,  unwasted,  t<>  the  >kie-, 

And  tempt  some  angel  from  the  throne 

To  hasten  with  thy  ble--iiiLr  d«wn. 

\-ept  the  homage  of  a  soul 

I'ntaught.  a-  yet.  in  earthly  guile  : 

Kaeh  wayward  wish  of  ymrth  euntrol. 
And  eheer  me  with  thy  friendly  smile, 

A-  thi-Mii^li  this  dark  and  dangerous  waste 

To  tliee  I  CMiifidcntl     ha-te. 


PRAYER.  17 


rancr. 


cjp 

ADAPTED  TO  THE  MINUKTTE  IN  "  DON  JUAN.' 


~~1IUMBLY  to  the  dust  we  bend : 
Unto  thee  our  prayers  ascend  ; 
God,  our  Father,  God,  our  friend, 

Bless  us,  we  implore  thee. 
With  temptations  strong  we  strive  : 
Mid  a  thousand  dangers  live  ; 
We  are  erring ;  Oh !  forgive, 

While  we  bow  before  thee. 
Kindly  hear  the  sufferer's  cries  : 
Wipe  the  tears  from  sorrow's  eyes  ; 
Then  our  songs  of  praise  shall  rise, 

Around  thy  throne  forever. 

Shield  us  still  by  day  and  night : 
In  the  darkness  be  our  light ; 
Ever  guide  our  steps  aright : 

Let  not  sin  deceive  us. 
i 

Wh«n  we  falter,  Oh !  sustain  ; 

Fill  our  hearts  with  hope  again : 
/ 

Cheer  us  in  death's  final  pain, 

And  to  heaven  receive  us. 
Free  from  sin,  from  sorrow  free, 
There  our  souls  shall  worship  thee ; 
Happy  for  eternity 

Within  their  home  of  glory. 

o         . 


18  T"   MY  SISTK1S   MARY. 


inn  lister  Htorn. 


(DIAD.) 

0!  thou  x.  early  ta'en  away: 

The  fairest  flower  of  all  tin-  numlier, 
Who  then  were  as  the  buds  of  May, 

If  thou  canst  break  that  quiet  slumber, 
Wherein  the  dead  are  said  to  lie, 
Come  sometimes  to  my  side,  for  I 

In  body  on  the  eartli  would  be  — 

In  spirit  wander  forth  with  thee. 

How  many  days,  how  many  year- 

Have  passed,  with  all  their  joys  and  SUIT<>\\-. 
Since  thy  cold  brow  was  wet  with  tears  ; 

And  looking  unto  sad  to-morro\\- 
We  went  forth,  struggling  with  our  grief. 
To  bury  thee  —  a  fallen  leaf  — 

And  saw  them  lay  thee  down  so  low, 

Then  turned  away  with  all  our  W.H-. 

Time  doeth  many  a  gentle  tiling, 

Though  we  upbraid  him  greatly  often  : 
He  Mights  the  flowers  which  he  doth  bring, 

And  chills  the  air  which  he  will  soften  : 
Even  so  the  pang  he  gives  to-day, 
Hereafter  he  will  take  away  ; 

And  he  will  wipe  from  clouded  ejM 

The  bitter  tears  of  agonies. 


TO  MY  SISTER  MARY.  19 


Now  with  clear  eyes  we  think  of  thee. 
Muse  on  thee  with  a  tranquil  pleasure  ; 

Nor  do  we  chide  that  awful  sea 

"^Vhose  waters  dread  engulphed  our  treasure  ; 

For  holy  faith  extends  her  hand 

Towards  the  heavenly  spirit  land, 
And  there  we  see  thee,  from  afar, 
Gleam  like  a  new  created  star. 

Spread,  ye  fresh  grasses,  o'er  the  grave 

Where  the  long  lost  was  laid  in  quiet ; 
Young  violets  above  it  wave, 

And  watch  continually  by  it : 
For  ye  alone  can  well  express 
The  homage  due  to  loveliness, 

And  testify  to  human  sense 

That  she  died  in  her  innocence. 


(Lljuriti). 


•'  I.t.T    >i.T   TUT    HK.HT    IIA.ND   K!IUW    WHAT   THV    LtIT    HAND   DOCTB." 

Tins  counselled  One  who  understood 

Till'    gClltll'st     lUndr    (if     doillg    guild. 

And  wise  las  counsel  i-  : 
KIT  charity  >huiihl  noiseless  In-. 

And  all  uiiM-i-n  di>|n.-ii.-r 
Its  hlo.-in^.-.  that  like  MIIIIUUT  df\v. 

Spread  \\<tnd']-oiis  inlliu-ncc. 

Win)  dues  an  act  in  virtue's  name 

l)e>hv>  not  the  reward  of  fame 
Which  wnnderiiiLT  men  beM<>u  : 
Enough  for  him  the  >eeret  glow 

That  animates  his  heart. 

"When  he  can  ease  another  -  ffOfl 

And  take  away  his  smart. 

For  what  is  human  tame'.'      A  thing 
Which  waits  upon  a  sceptcred  king. 

Or  warrior  red  with  blood: 
It  follows  wealth  and  power  and  show — 

A  bird  of  sunny  clime — 
And  leaves  the  cjuiet  scenes  of  good 

For  noisy  scenes  of  crime. 


CHARITY.  21 


Give  ye  your  gift  as  tho'  ye  cast 
A  trifle  to  the  waters  vast, 

Nor  look  for  a  reward : 
And  make  no  boast  of  what  ye  do 

For  envy's  sake  or  pride's ; 
The  recompense  will  come  to  you 

When  all  is  lost  besides. 


«.  AUI.KI:. 


Tin:  wave-  tli.-it  roll  on  Galilei- 
Are  bright  with  memories  of  Thee, 

The  Christ,  the  Crucified. 
And  many  a  vision,  dark  and  fair. 

Of  thy  humility,  man's  pride, 
Will  fill  his  ga/e  who  wanders  there, 

At  morn  or  eventide. 

The  solemn  hills  which  saw  Thee  then 
\  -ilent  sufferer  with  men, 

Still  meet  the  pensive  view. 
Calmly  they  contemplate  the  sea 

Which  once  its  billows,  threatening,  threw 
Around  the  frail  craft  bearing  Thee, 

And  Tliy  disciples  few. 

Tlie  scene  arises  to  our  sight  : 

We  see  the  storm  —  Thy  follower's  fright, 

Who  waken  Thee  with  fear. 
We  see  Thee  rise  unterrified 

With  outstretched  hand.     Thy  voice  we  hear. 
And  suddenly  the  waves  subside  — 

The  heavens  again  are  clear. 

But,  yet  again  the  winds  prevail, 
And  shake,  adverse,  the  rattling  sail, 
While  vainly  groans  the  ship. 


GALILKK.  23 


Lo  !  the  alarmed  disciples  see 

Thy  form,  that  walks  the  fretted  deep, 

though  it  might  some  phantom  be, 
That  minds  conceive  in  sleep. 

Two  fishermen  upon  the  shore, 
Skilless  in  all  save  to  explore, 

With  cunning  nets,  the  main, 
To  Thee — beholding  them  repair 

Their  several  meshes — not  in  vain, 
Seemed  fitting  heavier  tasks  to  share, 

With  an  immortal  gain. 

The  ignorant  and  lowly  born, 

Whom  learned  eloquence  might  scorn, 

Thou  didst  not  think  too  low. 
The  simple  hearts  from  Galilee 

By  Thee  were  armed  to  overthrow 
The  temples  of  philosophy — 

The  pride  of  long  ago. 

The  multitudes  which  Thou,  at  need, 
From  Thy  too  scanty  store  didst  feed 

Upon  that  silent  land, 
Have  lain  long  years  in  dreamless  rest ; 

And  after  them  full  many  a  band, 
By  fond  fanaticism  pressed, 

Found  death  upon  that  strand. 


•24 


UALILBE. 


l.o  !     a*    We    lllllse    oil 

Ari-r  the  memories  of 

Wln>  w;in<len'il>t  <>ii  it.-  .-lion  . 

Tliv  lif'( — Thy  actions.  tV«-<-  ..{'  Maine. 
Semi  to  us  jinrer  than  In-fore. 

\Vr  -re  thy  painful  ileath  ! — man's  -Inline. 
Alas!   for  IK.  seein<  more. 


LEAVING  THE  ARK.  25 


v         How  many  a  dreadful  day  has  past. 
And  0  how  many  a  fearful  night, 
Since  the  blue  heavens  were  overcast, 
And  floods,  from  th'  etherial  height, 
Pour'd  down,  until  each  hill  and  plain 
Was  lost  beneath  the  angry  main ! 

How  o'er  all  earth's  drown'd  sons, 
Her  cities,  pinnacled  and  proud, 

The  surges  dashed,  and  shook  for  once 
Her  mountain  tops,  and  thundered  loud 

In  her  deep  caverns,  where  the  shade 

Of  solitude  his  couch  had  made. 

One  thing  lay  on  the  ample  deep, 

Toss'd,  but  not  shattered  by  the  wrath 

Of  winds  that  made  the  waters  leap 
Like  chargers,  which  the  trumpet  hath 

Sent  plunging,  by  its  brazen  jar. 

Into  the  fire  and  blood  of  war. 

And  when  a  calmer  day  had  come, 

Those  who  still  floated  on  the  wave 

) 

Sent  from  within  the  battered  home 

A  dove,  which  spread  its  pinions  brave 
In  the  fresh  air,  and  sailed  away 
With  half  of  joy  and  half  dismay. 


26  LEA  VINT,  THE  ARK. 


wanderer  return'd  once  more, 
And  to  the  aged  patriarch's  hand 
A  verdant  branch  of  olive  bore, 

Which  told  a  story  of  the  land 
To  those  who  wept  and  sighed  in  vain, 
When  it  was  drown'd  h<'iie;ith  the  m:iin. 

How  blue  the  ln-.-tv.  n-  -<-einM  to  those  eyes 
From  which  so  long  it  was  concealed  ! 

How  fair  the  bow,  which  from  the  skies 
Stooped  down  unto  the  moisten'd  field  ! 

How  green  the  wood,  the  hill,  the  plain, 

How  sweet  the  world  when  >een 


0  !  thankful  hearts  were  theirs,  who  stood 
Upon  the  mountain  top  that  day, 


Saved  from  the  exterminating  flood, 


And  gazed  upon  the  world  which  lay, 
Silent  and  bare,  beneath  them  spread, 
Like  some  vast  empire  of  the  dead  ! 


RUTH.  27 


IN  the  field  she's  gleaning 

All  the  day  long, 
Following  the  reapers 

With  smiles  and  with  song, 
As  with  swift  arms  and  stout 
They  sweep  the  scythe  about, 

And  lay  the  grain  along. 

Many  maids  are  with  her 
Gleaning  daily  there, 

They  're  dark-eyed  and  lovely, 
But  she  is  most  fair ; 

So  think  the  reapers  strong, 

While  they  listen  to  her  song, 
And  admire  her  ebon  hair. 

Every  one  who  bindeth 
Sheaves  upon  the  plain, 

Leavcth  behind  him 
A  handful  of  grain, 

That  the  strange  beautiful 

May  have  her  measure  full 
When  even  comes  again. 


28  RUTH. 


One  besides  the  reapers 

Is  marvelling  at  Ruth ; 
He  saith  to  himself — 

"'Tis  a  pleasant  maid,  in  truth;" 
And  every  look  doth  move 
The  master's  heart  to  love : 

He  loveth  and  he  wooeth. 

Soon  that  gentle  maiden, 

With  but  beauty  for  her  dower, 

Was  wedded  to  the  noble 

Of  wealth,  and  name,  and  power; 

And  she  gazed  forth  again 

O'er  the  wheat-encumbered  plain, 
When  't  was  harvest  time  once  more. 

There  were  sturdy  reapers, 

Gleaners  too  were  there, 
Gathering  from  the  dark  earth 

The  bearded  grain  with  care, 
And  tears  of  pleasure  slid 
From  beneath  her  fring'd  eyelid : 

And  her  lips  were  mov'd  with  prayer. 


PAUL  ON  MARS    HILL. 


29 


on  mars 


HE  who  leads  warriors  rushing  into  fight 

Perchance  doth  well  deserve  a  hero's  name ; 

But  how  much  greater  far  should  be  thy  fame. 
Who  stood  of  old  on  th'  Athenian  height, 

In  scorn  of  the  divinities  of  Grqpce ! 
The  soldier,  resting  on  his  thirsty  lance, 
Looked  awe-struck  at  thy  kingly  countenance, 

Forgetful  of  those  gods  who,  late  at.  ease, 
Dwelt  on  Olympus,  and  the  high-brow' d  sages, 

With  folded  arms,  stood  motionless  and  mute, 
Beholding  the  bright  theories  of  ages 

Hurl'd  to  the  dust.     Alas  !  for  the  fair  fruit 
Of  the  Platonian  School !  A  spirit's  breath 
Pass'd  over  it  and  it  fell ;  for  in  that  breath  was  death. 

Jove's  lightnings  fell  from  his  relax'd  grasp, 
And  Juno's  brow  grew  pallid  as  the  moon 
When  mists,  wind-charioted,  sweep  aboon 

The  silent  hills.     From  fair  Apollo's  grasp 

The  golden  reins,  which  rul'd  the  steeds  of  day, 

Drop'd  quickly  ;  gods  of  earth,  and  air,  and  stream, 

All  vanished,  like  an  unsubstantial  dream 
When  unto  sealed  eyes  creeps  in  a  ray : 


30  PAUL  ON  MARS'  HILL. 

And  all  this  through  the  magic  of  thy  speech, 

Great  follower  of  the  Christ !    Still,  though  the  hour 

Which  saw  thee  on  the  hill  of  Mars  thus  teach 
Be  gone,  I  seem  to  hear  thee  in  thy  power 

Proclaiming  to  the  amaz'd  Greeks  the  glory 

Of  an  Omnipotent  Power — the  Unknown  One  of  their  story. 


XK11XES. 


AT  morn,  he  stood  upon  an  eminence  high, 
The  king  of  nations :  in  the  vale  below 

His  arm'd  ranks  by  thousands  thundered  by, 
Horsemen  and  chariots — a  resplendent  show — 

Roll'd  like  the  waves  of  ocean  to  its  shore, 
Herald'd  by  the  clamorous  trumpet's  peal, 

And  all  the  din  of  arms  commingled  roar. 
Pennons  were  flutt'ring  over  glancing  steel, 

And  gay  plumes  quivered  in  the  floating  dust, 

Like  snow-flakes  whirled  upon  a  wintry  gust; 
While  out  upon  the  waters  lay  his  fleets, 
The  light  wind  toying  with  their  outspread  sheets. 

The  monarch  saw,  and  loftier  grew  his  pride  : 
"  A  century  hence,  where  will  they  be  ?"  he  cried: 

"Where  will  these  be  after  a  hundred  years?" 

<  ) 

He  asked,  and  answer'd  for  himself,  with  tears. 

) 

He  knew,  yet  heeded  not.    That  mighty  mass 
Of  steel,  and  nerve,  and  madness,  still  swept  on 
In  all  its  wondrous  majesty.    Anon 

The  triple  hundred  meet  them  at  the  pass, 
And  thousands,  ere  the  setting  of  the  sun, 

With  their  warm  life-blood  erimson'd  all  the  grass. 


CIIKJIISH    KAUI.Y   PBELINO8. 


(Tbtrislj  (?;irln  jftflinqs. 

." 

SWIFTLY,  silently.  time  pa—>  -. 

Like  the  shallow  of  a  eloud 
That  aen»s  the  meadow  grasses, 

Hiiml.le  vale*.  anil    mountain.-  ].rou.l. 
In  the  sunny  Miniiiier  tiile, 
dotli 


Cliihlhoixl's  inerireil  in  youth:   ami  after 
Youth  it-elfin  inanhooil's  lost  — 

(  'hildhooil's  simple  tears  and  laughter 
To  the  winds  of  time  are  tossed: 

And  the  enthusiasm  of  youth 

Fades  in  manhood's  soher  truth. 

Oh!  mu^t  time  thus  dull  the  lustre 
That  fair  childhood  doth  invent? 

Mu-t  he  spoil  the  hopes  that  eln-ter 
In  a  young  amhitious  breast  : 

Must  he  prove  this  life  a  cheat, 

Hope,  ami  love,  and  joy,  deceit  '.' 

Say  not  so;  though  time  is  stealing 

Silently  our  lives  away; 
Let  us  cherish  still  the  feeling 

That  inspir'd  our  earliest  day: 
Nor  let  chilling  time  control 
The  emotions  of  the  soul. 


/ 
CHERISH  EARLY  FEELINGS.  33 


Let  him  not  our  bosoms  rifle 

Of  their  first  simplicity ; 
Never,  never  let  them  stifle 

The  enthusiasm  free, 

<; 
That  in  youth's  aspiring  hours 

Filled  us  with  heroic  powers ! 

Strip  our  hearts  of  this  emotion — 

Take  this  fervor  from  our  minds, 
And  we  drift  upon  life's  ocean 

At  the  mercy  of  the  winds, 
Like  a  bare  forsaken  ship 
Floating  sailless  on  the  deep  ! 


34 


MUTABILITY. 


JHutobilitn. 


by  one  have  fallen 

Life's  pleasures  to  the  ground, 
Like  roses  and  violets 

Wherewith  did  spring  abound  : 
And  all  that  remaineth, 

Left  by  blight  and  decay, 
Are  the  thorns  that  pierce  us, 

And  the  bare  sapless  spray  ! 

0  !  let  us  mourn  together 

O'er  mutability, 
That  doth  affect  the  dearest, 

The  fairest  things  we  see ! 
Let  us  weep  for  the  spring  roses, 

Weep  for  the  violets  blue, 
Whose  loveliness  and  sweetness 

Are  as  transient  as  dew ! 

Let  us  make  of  them  a  garland, 

Even  faded  as  they  are ; 
Let  us  make  of  them  a  garland 

To  bind  our  loosen'd  hair : 
For  they  emblem  well  our  pleasures 

That  have  fallen  one  by  one : 
There 's  nothing  which  is  lasting 

'Neath  the  eye  of  the  sun ! 


WOE  TO  JERUSALEM.  35      / 


(Utot  to  Jerusalem. 

(SEE  J03EPHDS.) 

A  CRY  was  heard  in  Israel's  holy  city, 

A  cry  more  mournful  than  a  funeral  wail, 
A  cry  of  fate,  solemn,  unmixed  with  pity, 
That  made  the  unwilling  auditors  turn  pale ; 

And  evermore,  by  day  and  night, 
The  wanderer  pronounced  those  ominous  words — 
Woe  to  the  city ! 

Whenever  hearts  were  lightest,  pleasure  greatest, 

That  voice  of  doom  broke  in — a  spell  of  fear ; 
It  was  the  earliest  cry,  it  was  the  latest, 

That  fell  upon  the  Israelitish  ear — 
Awake,  asleep,  they  heard  it  still ; 

And  evermore  the  wandering  prophet  cried— 
Woe  to  the  city ! 

Day  after  day  that  ominous  cry  resounded, 

Until  the  Roman  legions  'camped  without, 
And  with  beleaguring  lines  the  town  surrounded  ; 
Until  the  soldiery,  with  frenzied  shout, 

Fired  the  great  temple  of  the  Jews, 
And  the  red  ruins,  tumbling,  thundered  out — 
Woe  to  the  city ! 


THE  MOTHER  AND  HKK  TIIUK1-:  CHILDREN. 


<L  Ijf  Hfotjrer  ;mb  brr  Cbrtt  (Cbilirtn. 

^>       ^mj*^  O  O  O 

THERE  is  a  fair  and  gracious  nymph 

That  in  a  cottage  lives; 
Her  only  draught  the  cooling  lymph 

That  mother  Nature  gives ; 
Her  only  food  the  pulpy  fruits 

Which  bending  boughs  sustain — 
The  bearded  grain,  the  juicy  roots, 

Drawn  from  the  fertile  plain. 

Beside  her  door  the  eglantine 

And  honeysuckle  bloom ; 
Around  her  window  creeps  the  vine. 

Perfuming  all  the  room; 
And  in  the  trees,  which  wide  ;in>un«l 

Refreshing  shadows  fling, 
Some  merry  birds  a  home  have  found, 

Where  all  day  long  they  sing. 

And  oh,  to  make  a  perfect  scene, 

Young  children  three  are  there, 
That  sport  beneath  the  foliage  green. 

Without  a  thought  or  care ; 
And  should  you  chance  to  pass  that  way, 

Rich,  powerful  though  you  be, 
You  could  not  choose  but  stop  to  say — 

What  happy  children  three ! 


THE  MOTHER  AND  HER  THREE  CHILDREN.       37 


And  if  you  lingered,  loth  to  pass 

That  home  in  blossoms  hid, 
And  saw  those  children  on  the  grass, 

As  I  but  lately  did ; 
And  saw  the  mother  looking  on 

With  such  a  happy  air, 
You  could  not  choose  but  say — the  home 

Of  happiness  was  there ! 

But  would  you  know  the  mother  blest, 

That  from  the  window  bent  ? 
Ah !  since  the  truth  must  be  confessed — 

That  lady  was  Content ; 
And  Innocence,  and  Love,  and  Truth, 

Those  were  the  children  gay, 
That  in  the  purity  of  youth 

Played  at  her  door  all  day ! 


38  co.MMrxmx  WITH  THE  DEAD. 

? 


(Communion  toitb  the  Deal 

o     o     ^ 

THE  weary  city  is  asleep, 
After  a  day  of  feverish  heat ; 

In  at  the  door  cool  breezes  creep, 

Fresh  from  the  South,  so  soft  and  sweet. 
They  make  the  sense  of  calm  complete ; 

While  the  moon,  shining  forth  serene, 

With  glory  gilds  the  dreamy  scene. 

Alone  I  sit;  yet  not  alone, 

For  memory,  busy  with  the  past, 

Recalls  the  dear  companions,  gone 
To  that  dim  country,  lying  va 
Beyond  the  grave.   Mine  eyes  I  cast 

On  the  dear  shadows,  as  they  glide 

With  noiseless  footsteps  to  my  side. 

And  in  their  lineaments  I  trace 
No  evidence  of  time  or  clianp. 

Save  that  a  calmer,  holier  gran •. 

Has,  like  those  cloudlets  that  arran<:o 
Their  gossamer  woof  in  manner  strange 

About  some  peak,  in  distance  pale — 

Thrown  o'er  them  its  mellowing  veil. 

/- 


COMMUNION  WITH  THE  DEAD.  39 


Thrice  welcome,  well-beloved  shades, 
Companions  of  my  musing  hour  ! 

Now,  when  the  world  in  darkness  fades, 
My  spirit  opens  like  the  flower, 
Unsealed  by  that  mysterious  power — 

Imagination — at  whose  beck 

The  long-lost  dead  their  cerements  break. 

Think  not  ye  are  forgotten  yet : — 

The  memory  of  noble  souls 
Outlives  their  times  in  man's  regret, 

And,  with  a  secret  might,  controls 

The  very  life-blood,  as  it  rolls 
Through  kindred  hearts  and  kindred  veins, 
And  fires  with  glorious  thought  our  brains. 

Not  yours  a  world-embracing  fame; 
Yet  have  ye  left  your  impress  here 

On  hearts  to  whom  an  honest  name. 
Though  homely  in  a  vulgar  ear, 
Than  Greek's  or  Roman's  is  more  dear, 

Because  it  was  a  friend's.     Ah !  thus — . 

All  that  we  love  is  fair  to  us ! 

Diverse  our  paths,  and  yet, the  goal 
Of  all  that  '&  mortal  is  the  same  : 

'Mid  all  the  pangs  that  rack  the  soul, 
'Mid  all  the  sins  that  gather  shame, 
'Mid  our  aspirings  and  our  fame, 


40  COMMUNION  WITH  THE  DEAD. 


There  whispers  still  a  voice  of  doom — 
There  sounds  one  solemn  word — the  tomb ! 

So  to  the  silent  verge  of  time, 
Have  I  with  you,  in  fancy,  gone  ; 

And  in  the  solitude  sublime, 
Of  the  eternal  sea,  unknown, 
Lost  you  from  view ;  yet  wander  on 

My  thoughts  the  way  that  you  have  sped. 

And  scarcely  yet  account  you  dead  ! 

Still  on  that  ocean's  further  strand, 
Despite  the  mists  that  interpose, 

I  see  you  wave  a  friendly  hand ; 

And  in  the  marvellous  light  that  glows 
Around  you,  like  a  summer  rose, 

I  see  your  kindly  faces  shine. 

Transfigured  by  the  gleam  divine ! 


LEONORE.  41 


MARRY,  marry,  sings  the  sparrow, 
Fluttering  in  the  mild  May  sun  ; 
Time  is  like  a  flying  arrow, 

And  he  lingereth  for  none. 

/ 

And  the  brooklet  babbles,  marry, 

As  it  sparkles  on  its  way  ; 
Time  's  a  stream  that  will  not  tarry  — 

Marry,  marry,  while  you  may. 

Softly,  too,  the  green  leaves  rustle  — 

Haste  to  marry,  maiden,  haste  ; 
In  the  world's  loud  din  and  bustle, 

Ere  you  know  it  —  youth  is  past. 

And  the  breezes  are  repeating, 

As  they  shake  the  vernal  bloom, 
Marry,  marry;  life  is  fleeting  — 

Marry,  ere  the  winter  come. 

Hark  !  from  yonder  flowery  valley, 

Where  the  honeyed  roses  blow, 
How  the  bees  hum  musically  — 

Marry,  marry,  marry  now. 

Vainly  thou  dost  sing  thy  warning  — 

Sparrow,  fluttering  in  the  sun  ; 
Vainly,  brooklet,  night  and  morning, 

Thou  dost  ever  babbling  run. 


42  1.1  "XORE.  • 


Green  leaves,  ye  do  idly  rustle ; 

Breezes,  ye  do  vainly  sing ; 
Vainly,  bees,  ye  buzz  and  bustle, 

'Mid  the  rosy  blooms  of  spring. 

For  the  maid  that  hears  you  heeds  not, 
Or  but  daintily  doth  reply — 

That  such  counselling  she  needs  not ! 
And  disdainfully  passes  by. 

Gaily  up  and  down  she  wanders, 
'Mid  the  garden  blooms  all  day ; 

Yet  she  never,  never  ponders 
On  her  youth,  that  steals  away. 


NEW  YORK  CITY. 


43 


0rh  Citr. 


0  !   CITY  of  Confusion  and  strange  sounds, 

Thou  water-girded  empress  of  the  north ; 

From  whose  mast-circled  quays  whole  fleets  go  forth, 
Seeking  rich  climes  beyond  the  ocean's  bounds ! — 
The  Ind  hath  heard  of  thy  commercial  fame  ; 

Thy  keels  are  drifting  in  both  polar  seas, 
And  wealth  and  thou  are  almost  of  a  name 

To  nations  far  dissevered  as  these ! 
In  the  bright  coronet  of  Liberty 

Thou  art  a  jewel  of  unequalled  ray — 
A  wonder  of  the  land,  where  all  are  free, 

And  enterprise  hath  an  unbounded  sway ; 
Where,  as  upreared  by  potent  witchery, 

Cities  arise — the  offspring  of  a  day ! 

The  mighty  cities  which  once  ruled  'the  main 
Are  buried  in  destruction ;  and  the  waves 
That  once  were  to  them  as  obedient  slaves, 

Devour  each  tottering  wall  and  shattered  fane, 

And  sink  them  into  nothingness  once  more  ! 
Tyre  is  forsaken ;  Venice  has  become 

Powerless  upon  her  once  ship-bounded  shore, 
And  busy  trade  and  fame  alike  are  dumb. 


44  NEW  YORK  CITY. 


These  are  the  beacons  that  bid  thee  beware  : 
Wealth  has  its  curses ;  power  is  but  a  thing 

With  us  to-day,  nor  prophet  can  declare 
Where  it  will  be  to-morrow ;  like  the  wing 

Of  birds  that  ever  dart  along  the  air, 

'Tis  ready  for  a  flight,  outstretched  and  quivering ! 


AMERICA,  THE  LAND  OF  MY  BIRTH.  45 


faith  of 


THE  fire  which  burn'd  on  Helle's  strand 
Ere  Sparta's  sons  as  yet  were  slaves, 

Or  conquerors  stood  on  Attic  land 
Above  a  thousand  heroes'  graves, 

Hath  found  an  altar-place  once  more, 

And  kindled  on  Columbia's  shore.! 

Here  there  is  many  a  vale  and  hill 
Where  freedom  on  to  victory  led. 

And  yet  there  flows  full  many  a  rill 
That  once  with  hireling  blood  was  red; 

And  far  and  wide  the  mounds  are  spread, 

That  hide  the  bones  of  former  dead  ! 

Each  spot  of  earth  where  freedom  bled, 
Each  battle-field  where  they  repose — 

Than  others  is  more  hallowed; 

Made  sacred  by  the  blood  of  those 

Who  fell  asleep  on  victory's  breast, 

And,  dying,  feel  that  they  are  blest ! 

Though  those  who  bravely  fought  and  won 
Now  slumber  in  their  silent  homes, 

Their  glory  set  not  like  the  sun, 

Still  glows  it  o'er  their  sacred  tombs ; 

While  bosoms  heave,  and  hearts  beat  high, 

And  tears  fall  to  their  memory ! 


46  AMK1UCA,  THK   LAM)  OK  MY  BIRTH. 


The  chief,  who"  led  Columbia  on, 

Is  treasured  in  the  freeman's  heart — 

JStill  at  the  name  of  Washington 
A  thousand  ardent  spirits  start : 

'Tis  now  a  spell  as  strong  as  then — 

A  watchword  to  his  countrymen  ! 

The  breeze  which  stirs  our  mountain  air 
Breathes  love  of  liberty  and  peace, 

As  much  as  that  which  murmurs  there 
Amid  the  classic  hills  of  Greece ; 

And  never  nobler  souls  were  found 

Than  in  Columbia  abound  ! 

Here  hills  are  green  as  Hello's  >tr;m<l. 

And  streams  as  beautifully  pour 
As  those  which  grace  that  lovely  land, 

Where  summer  suns  shine  evermore  ; 
And  forests  here  as  dense  are  found 
As  those  which  shade  Albanian  ground ! 

Here  flourish  all  the  various  arts 

Which  lived  when  Helle's  self  was  young, 

All  those  which  beautify  the  heart s. 

Whose  charms  her  bards  have  seen  and  sung 

And  here  is  felt  the  mystic  spoil 

Created  by  the  Muse's  shell! 


THE  UNWILLING  BRIDE.  47 


t  Hntoiding  |5rik 


(A  HISTORICAL   PACT.) 

SCATTER  no  flowers  on  my  bridal  bed, 
It  will  be  the  couch  of  sorrow ; 

But  keep  your  roses  'till  I  am  dead — 
Gather  them  on  the  morrow ! 

They  led  me  to  the  altar  place, 
They  made  me  kneel  there  lowly, 

They  turned  to  mockery  Christian  grace ! 
0  sire! — 0  Priest,  unholy! 

They  gave  me,  by  the  Church's  rite, 
To  a  Baron,  old  and  wrinkled ; 

Jesu  !  I  fainted  with  affright. 

When  his  eyes  exultingly  twinkled ! 

He  knew  I  loathed  him  in  my  soul, 

And  feared  him  as  an  adder ; 
That  he  to  me  seem'd  all  things  foul — 

Yet  this  made  his  heart  the  gladder ! 

He  knew  his  lofty  lineage 

Had  gained  for  him  this  marriage : 
That  his  was  a  name  on  glory's  page, 

Which  no  man  durst  disparage ! 


4H  THI:  i  MVIU.IN.;  BRIDE. 



Yet  though  the  servile  Priest  hath  bound 

Our  hands,  he  cannot  mingle 
Our  souls,  nor  alter  hate  profound; 

My  spirit  shall  be  single ! 

For  I  will  summon  death  to-night 

With  draughts  from  the  poisoned  chalice, 

And  rid  me  of  this  wedded  blight — 
This  scorn,  this  hate,  this  malice! 

Then  strew  no  flowers  upon  my  bed. 
But  keep  them  'till  the  morrow ; 

And  whilst  ye  cast  them  on  the  dead — 
Think  of  her  not  with  sorrow! 


LOVE'S  CONSECRATIONS.  49 


f  ote's  Consecrations.  • 

A  SINGLE  strand  of  silken  hair 

Ta'en  from  the  brow  of  one  we  love, 

To  us  is  precious  far  above 
The  diamonds  other  brows  may  wear. 

A  rose  that  love's  warm  fingers  pressed, 

When  withered,  and  without  perfume, 

Is  dearer  than  the  freshest  bloom 
That  lures  the  wild  bee  to  its  breast. 

. 

A  single  ring,  that  bears  no  trace — 

No  letter  on  its  golden  round — 

Recalls  the  finger  that  it  bound, 

\ 

The  dear  and  unforgotten  face. 

! 

Thus  love  can  consecrate  a  tress, 

Thus  sanctify  a  flower  or  ring  ; 

Thus  give  unto  the  smallest  thing 
A  value  gold  can  ne'er  express. 


50  TO  A  YOUNG  FRIKM>. 


Co  a  §oung  jfritnb. 

\Vn  \T  shall  I  ask  for  thee? 

A  life  without  a  care? 
Nay,  for  the  trials  of  the  world 

Must  prove  what  stuff  we  are  ! 

Wouldst  thou  a  path  prefer 

Mid  flowers  and  sunshine  made  ? 

Oh !  what  were  earth  if  filled  with  flowers, 
Or  day  without  a  shade  ? 

The  shadow  makes  the  sun 

More  glorious  to  our  sight ; 
The  desert  makes  the  garden  seem 

More  beautiful  and  bright ! 

What  shall  I  ask  for  thee? 

Pleasure  without  alloy  ? 
Too  soon  the  heart  would  sated  be 

With  an  unmingled  joy ! 

Day  followed  close  by  night, 

Alternate  shower  and  sun ; 
Spring,  summer,  autumn,  winter  drear, 

In  meet  succession  run ! 

And  these  compose  the  year 
As  nature  doth  arrange ; 

So  would  I  ask  thy  life  should  be— 
Happy,  yet  marked  with  change ! 


THE  STARS.  51 


e  Stars. 


LOOK  through  the  open  window  ! 

The  day  is  scarcely  done, 
Yet  the  silver  stars  are  peering 

From  the  blue  sky  one  by  one, 
Stealing]gradually  towards  us, 

With  their  still  and  pleasant  light. 
Like  ships  that  from  the  ocean 

Slowly  lift  their  sails  of  white. 

Or  they  come  to  us  like  strangers 

From  a  far-off  land  unknown : 
From  beyond  a  mighty  desert 

That  untravelled  is  and  lone, — 
Come,  like  modest  stranger  maidens, 

Trembling  with  a  secret  fear, 
Lest  some  evil  chance  await  them 

In  the  new  land  which  they  near. 

Fairy  stars  !  forever  lovely, 

Ye  are  welcome  to  our  sight, 
Be  it  on  a  summer  evening, 

Or  a  chill  November  night : 
We  hail  with  joy  your  advent ; 

Your  presence  sweet  we  love, 
For  ye  lift  our  pensive  spirits 

To  the  dreamy  world  above. 


52  THE  STARS. 

, 

And  ye  seein'd  placed  there  to  cheer  us, 

As  below  we  toil  and  weep. 
Like  those  constant  lights  that  glimmer 

For  the  seamen  on  the  deep — 
Twinkling  forth  their  consolation, 

Many  a  mile  across  the  main. 
To  the  wakeful  eyes  that  seek  them 

Through  the  darkness  and  the  rain. 

Our  love  for  things  around  us 

May  change  each  passing  hour  : 
May  perish  with  the  objects, 

As  short-lived  as  a  flower; 
But  we  look  for  you  forever 

With  the  same  unchanged  desires — 
With  the  earnest,  quiet  longing, 

And  the  love  that  ne'er  expires. 


TO  THE  SOUTH  WIND.  53 


, 


^r-v  *(vA  sL«*M*  ^Jnir 


COME,  soft  breeze,  whose  breath  is  laden 

With  delicate  sweetness,  and  whose  song 
Is  like  the  music  of  a  maiden 
Tripping  lightsomely  along. 
Too  long  have  the  forsaken  woods 
Mourned  in  their  leafless  solitudes 
Thy  weary  absence,  while  at  play 
Th'ou  loiteredst,  many  leagues  away 
From  our  bleak  hills.     Thee,  the  cold  earth 
Hath  sighed  for  in  the  incessant  dearth 
Of  warm  suns ;  and  the  darksome  river 
Hath  rolled  on  with  a  chilly  shiver, 
Moaning  by  its  sedgeless  shores, 
Like  a  lover  who  deplores 
The  loss  of  some  dear  hope.     Oh,  come, 
Soft  breeze,  unto  the  forest  dumb  ! 
Return  unto  the  frozen  earth — 
Return  unto  the  gloomy  stream, 
Bearing  with  thee  a  sunny  gleam, 
To  warm  the  dead  seeds  into  birth 

Under  the  icy  sod.     Sweet  flowers 
Will  at  thy  magic  summons  spring, 
And  clouds  that  float  on  airy  wing, 
Will,  over  all,  distill  soft  showers, 
To  tinkle  'mid  the  meadow-grass, 
And  wet  the  woodlands  as  they  pass. 


54  RAIN  IN  MAY. 


llaiit  in 

\*^S 


AFTER  the  sun,  for  many  weary  days, 

Has  parched  the  earth,  and  made  the  air  to  glow 
With  deadly  and  unseasonable  blaze, 

How  pleasing  to  the  ear  the  booming  slow 
Of  distant  thunder — herald  of  the  rain  ! 
How  grateful  to  the  watching  eye  the  flash 

Amid  the  far-off  clouds,  that  in  the  gale 

Spread  their  black  forms  and  strain, 
And  from  aloft  their  cooling  waters  dash, 

In  slanting  currents,  over  hill  and  dale ! 

They  make  sweet  music,  pattering  on  the  earth, 

Dripping  from  the  green  trees  in  silver  streams, 
And  beating  on  the  grass  with  noisy  mirth. 

Oh,  to  our  ears  the  rain  drops'  music  seems 

Far  sweeter  than  the  roll  of  martial  drum : 
More  cheering  than  the  penetrating  note 

Of  brazen  trumps  for  gory  battle  blown  ; 

For  with  it  ever  come 
Visions  of  plenteous  peace,  that  round  us  float, 

Unsaddened  by  a  sufferer's  bitter  groan. 

Our  hopes  anticipate  the  fostering  showers 
Of  gentle  May — the  ripening  heats  of  Juno. 

We  count  not  time  by  weeks,  or  days,  or  hour.- 
In  visions ;  but  the  present  glides  full  soon 
Into  the  future,  and  our  happy  eyes 


RAIN  IN  MAY. 


55 


Gloat  over  coming  joys  ;  we  see  the  field 

Gleam  yellow-ripe,  and  hear  the  rustling  scythe 
The  busy  mower  plys  ; 

Who,  while  he  happily  reckons  o'er  the  yield, 
Strides  'mid  the  golden  harvest  brisk  and  blithe. 


We  hear  the  creaking  of  the  loaded  wain 

That  bears  away  the  sheaves ;  while  perched  above, 
The  country  lad  repeats  some  simple  strain, 

As  rustic  as  himself,  of  village  love. 

Then  fancy  catches  with  delight  the  hum 
Of  whirring  mill-stones,  mingled  with  the  plash 

Of  one  great  wheel — the  life  of  the  machine. 

Their  shrilly  cries  o'ercome 
By  the  mill's  thundering,  the  swallows  flash 

About  the  dusty  walls,  now  out,  now  in, 


Farewell !  sweet  dream  of  May,  as  fleeting  you 

As  the  too  transient  shower  that  called  you  forth. 
I  catch  already  glimpses  of  the  blue, 

And  through  the  rack,  upon  the  distant  earth, 

As  from  some  huge  volcano  rolls  a  flood 
Of  golden  sunlight ;  fresh  the  landscape  glows, 

Wearing  a  grateful  smile  upon  its  face ; 

While  over  hill  and  wood 
Heaven's  fairy  bow,  distinct  and  brilliant,  glows — 

A  parting  pledge — the  May-storm's  latest  grace. 


,56  RAIN   IN  MAY. 


What  destinies  are  hidden  in  a  cloud  ! 

What  hopes  and  fears  its  rugged  folds  beget ! 
To  some  't  is  life  itself ;  to  some  a  shroud, 

Hiding  a  fiery  death  ;  here  it  may  wet 

The  thirsty  fields  with  long-expected  rain — 
A  benefactor  to  the  blighted  land  : 

There  it  may  send  its  floods  ami  lightnings  down, 

To  desolate  wood  and  plain  ; 
And,  scattering  ruin  'round  with  lavish  hand. 

Bury,  in  maledictions,  field  and  to'vn. 


Yet  wave  your  glittering  heads,  ye  happy  trees  ! 

Ye  meadows,  new-baptized  of  heaven,  look  up 
In  your  green  lustre,  fresh  as  oases, 

Vicing  with  the  sky  in  beauty  !     Ye  that  sup 
The  sweetest  dew  and  softest  rain — ye  flowers, 

Whose  starry  glories  ornament  the  earth, 

/ 
Now,  with  new  vigor,  lift  your  honeyed  bowls. 

Ye  people  of  the  bowers. 
Pour  forth  a  mighty  hymn  of  grateful  mirth. 

Thrilling  with  sense  of  gratitude  our  souls ! 
/  ) 


THE  ATTIMN   MOON.  57 


1  WATCH  with  a  delighted  eye 
The  slowly  rising  autumn  moon, 
That  cometh,  like  a  heavenly  boon, 

To  fill  with  light  the  cheerless  sky. 

Not  more  serene  a  conqueror. 

With  garlands  on  his  battered  helm, 
Comes  to  assume  the  subject  realm 

And  blood-bought  trophies  of  the  war. 

Already  doth  the  forest  brown 

In  the  new  light  resplendent  gleam  ; 
While  southward  far  away  the  stream 

Glides,  silver  flashing,  from  the  town. 

How  silently  away  it  steals ! 

While  from  its  mirroring  expanse 
The  multiplying  moonbeams  glance — 

Bright  basilisk  of  our  native  hills. 

Fair  this ;  yet  fairer  far  the  sight 
When,  as  yon  tender  moon  doth  rise, 
Its  peerless  beauty  greets  mine  eyes, 

And  makes  more  magical  the  night. 


58  THE  AUTUMN  MOON. 


0  night,  and  moon,  and  stars  so  fair, 
And  autumn  skies  so  bright  above, 
Unto  the  hearts  that  knows  not  love, 

How  cold,  how  dull,  how  vain  ye  are ! 

Yea,  night  and  day  alike  were  nought, 
And  life  were  but  a  scentless  flower, 
Did  not  love's  consecrated  power 

Inspire  the  heart,  exalt  the  thought. 


WINTER  SCENE.  59 


THROUGH  the  window  see  the  snow 
Lying  here  and  lying  there : 

On  the  house-tops,  high  and  low, 
On  the  ground,  and  everywhere ; 
And  it  cometh  through  the  air, 

In  its  crystalline  pure  glow, 

Silently  as  aught  I  know. 

Not  the  dark  that  shrouds  us  nightly 
Falls  upon  the  earth  more  lightly ; 
Not  the  dew  of  summer-eves, 

Settling  on  the  grasses  green ; 
Not  the  frost-nipp'd  autumn  leaves, 

In  their  gold  and  crimson  sheen, 

Sink  to  earth  more  noiselessly  : 
Not  more  silently  the  light 

Showers  upon  the  land  and  sea. 
Than  those  spangles,  pearly  white, 

That  are  floating  here  and  there — 

Drifting  like  feathers  on  the  air. 

Faintly,  through  the  filmy  snow, 

Peer  the  houses  of  the  town ; 
And  the  trees  but  dimly  show, 

With  their  branches,  bare  and  dry, 
Stretching  vaguely  to  the  sky, 
'Mid  the  flakes  that  flutter  down. 


60  WI.NTKK  6 


Tinkle,  tinkle  the  silvery  bells, 

And  the  laugh  of  pleasure  swells. 

As  along  the  echoing  street. 

Hurried  on  by  flying  tVi-t. 

Like  a  phantom  glides  awav. 

In  the  gloom,  the  merry  sleigh  : 

And  the  chime  of  the  bells,  and  the  beat — 

Muffled  beat,  of  the  horses  feH. 

And  the  driver's  ringing  cheer, 

Are  lost  to  the  listening  ear. 

Now  the  snow  has  ceased  to  fall, 
And  the  snow-bird  hither  hit's. 

Seeking  in  the  plentiful  town 
What  the  barren  wood  denies. 

Every  little  brook  he'll  visit, 

In  his  quest  for  straggling  grains, 
And  approach  the  window-panes. 

Kind  attention  to  solicit 

From  the  liberal  hands  of  men  : 
Shrilly  whistling  now  and  then. 
And  with  beautiful  bright  eyes — 
Asking  human  sympathies. 

Hardy  little  wanderer, 
With  the  snows  thou  comest  here. 
All  thy  bosom  like  them  white, 
And  thy  wings  as  black  as  night. 


WINTER   SCENE.  61 


Whence  thou  coruest,  whither  goest, 
Thou,  alone,  pert  creature,  knowest ; 
For,  when  vanquished  winter  leaves  us. 

With  the  winds,  and  snow,  and  ice, 
And  the  frost  no  longer  weaves  us 

Glittering  webs,  of  strange  device — 
Thou,  too,  flyest,  vanishing 

From  the  hollow  and  the  hill, 
While  thy  fellows  of  the  spring, 

All  the  woods  with  pipings  fill — 

With  music,  merry  and  shrill. 

Come,  mysterious  little  thing — 
Tiny  teacher  of  content, 

Here  repose  thy  weary  wing, 
For  most  surely  thou  art  sent 

To  enliven  winter  drear — 

The  desponding  soul  to  cheer, 
And  the  lesson  to  impart, 

That,  to  a  contented  heart, 
( 

All  things  pleasant  do  appear. 


K  VI.MN-., 


(filming  Song. 


I !\  I:\IM;  has  settled  o'er  the  fk 
And  multitudinous  fire-flies, 
Uprising  from  the  foliage  near, 
Steal  glimmering  on  the  atmosphere. 

Awhile  the  watchful  vision  fails 
To  trace  their  course:  then  sudden  trails 
Of  phosphorescent  lustre  mark 
Their  pathway  through  the  dewy  dark. 

Above  the  dusky  landscape,  soon 
Will  rise  the  silver-shedding  moon — 
Eclipsing  yon  anemonies,  sot 
O'er  heaven's  broad  field  of  violet. 

Sweet  music's  voice  will  'rouse  once  more 
Soft  echoes  by  the  river  shore ; 
While  from  the  woody  hills  around 

The  'plaints  of  whip-poor-wills  resound. 

. 
But  more  than  all,  young  Love,  who  lay 

Faint  and  dispirited  to  day, 
Refreshed  by  evening's  dewy  breeze, 
Shall  burst  from  his  inglorious  ease. 

Ah!  wo  to  you!     Ah!  wo,  to-night, 
Ye  young-eyed  seekers  of  delight, 
Love's  arrows  will  be  doubly  keen, 
From  having  long  neglected  been. 


EVENING  SONG. 


63 


His  bow  will  take  a  greater  bend, 
The  arrows  sped  will  trailer  tend ; 
And  when  they  strike,  the  wound  will  be 
Too  deep  for  any  remedy. 

For  Love,  that  'neath  the  moonbeams  strays, 
A  more  persuasive  influence  sways — 
Speaks  warmer  words,  heaves  softer  sighs, 
And  fills  with  tenderer  light  the  eyes. 

Then,  maidens  fair,  of  Love  beware : 
He  comes  with  spirit  light  as  air ; 
And  where 's  the  heart  that  can  withstand 
His  powers  of  speech,  and  gaze,  and  hand? 


»I4  NOBILITY  <>F  c.KNIUS. 


j  I  ability  of  Cnnius. 

N  •  •  t  itles  grand  do  ye  inherit 

From  a  far-dating  ancestry; 
But  in  you  burns  a  noble  spirit — 

A  deathless  love  of  liberty, 
A  longing  to  achieve  that  merit 

Which  makes  man's  true  nobility. 

Yours  is  the  love  that  never  faileth : 
For,  whatsoe'er  is  good  and  true, 

The  hope,  whose  brightness  never  paleth — 
But,  steadfast  as  the  sun  in  the  blue, 

Whatever  storm  of  time  assaileth, 

Whatever  clouds  arise — shines  through. 

Not  all  the  stars  that  o'er  us  muster, 
Enhance  the  moon's  transcendent  state ; 

A  sounding  name  imparts  no  lustre 
Unto  a  soul  degener.-t 

Nor  all  the  titles  kings  may  cluster, 
Can  greater  make  the  truly  great. 

Ye  trace  through  patriots  and  sages 
Your  lineage  to  the  elder  days ; 

And  read,  on  history's  glowing  pages, 
Their  deeds,  with  undissembled  praise — 

Their  proud  achievements,  in  the  ages 
When  honor  set  the  world  a-blaze. 


NOBILITY  OF  GENIUS.  65 


Yours  is  the  brotherhood  of  glory — 
Not  the  red  streams  of  life  that  run 

From  a  brave  sire,  with  toil  grown  hoary, 
Unto  an  enervated  son; 

Yours  is  the  mystic  bond  of  glory, 
That  links  your  spirit  all  in  one. 

The  never-ceasing  aspiration 
After  the  beautiful  and  good ; 

The  burning  zeal,  the  exaltation. 
The  impulse  felt,  not  understood, 

The  gift  divine — imagination — 
Make  you  a  common  brotherhood. 

Not  any  chance  of  tune  can  smother 
The  fire  that  from  Olympus  came ; 

The  dying  genius  to  his  brother 
Transmits  the  undiminished  flame : 

Connecting  thus,  with  one  another, 
The  immortal  progeny  of  fame. 


66  UNCONSCIOUS  BEAUTY. 


?tneonstions 


THK  stars  that  in  the  azure  glow, 
The  flowers  —  their  sisterhood  below  — 
More  pleasing  to  our  fancies  are, 
Because  they  know  not  they  are  fair. 

I  saw  her  in  her  early  days, 

When,  in  a  sweet  simplicity, 
She  half  withdrew  herself  from  gaze, 

And,  oh,  how  beautiful  was  she  ! 
I  thought  I  never  yet  had  seen 
An  eye  so  lustrous,  yet  serene  — 
A  form  so  graceful,  round,  and  light, 
Save  in  my  floating  dreams  at  night. 
So  innocent  her  ignorance, 
She  never  deem'd  my  marvelling  glance 

A  tribute  to  her  beauty  rare  ; 
But,  like  the  stars,  and  like  the  flowers, 

That  know  not  they  are  fair, 
She  lived,  and  dreamed  away  the  hours, 

Free  of  ambition,  free  of  guile, 

And  stole  my  heart  with  one  sweet  smile. 

She  stole  my  heart,  yet  knew  it  not  ; 
For  flattering  words,  with  danger  fraught, 
Not  yet  had  reached  her  ivory  ear, 
Or,  heard,  were  never  deem'd  sincere  : 


UNCONSCIOUS  BEAUTY. 


Nor  yet  had  pride — the  tempter  sly — 
Taught  her  the  import  of  a  sigh — 
That  homage  from  the  lover  wrung 
Before  the  avowal  from  his  tongue. 

The  early  charm  forsook  her  face : 

Swift  years,  that  should  have  added  grace, 

But  mar'd  the  innocence  of  youth, 

By  teaching  one  seductive  truth. 

She,  who  had  thoughts,  no  joy  above — 

That  simple  joy — the  joy  to  love, 

Endeavored  now,  by  fatal  arts, 

To  gain  a  multitude  of  hearts. 

Oh !  from  the  day  she  learned  her  might, 

To  me  she  never  seemed  as  bright 

As  when  she  charmed  me — like  a  flower, 

Unconscious  of  its  silent  power ; 

As  when — an  unpretending  star, 

She  dazed,  nor  knew  it,  from  afar. 


68  IN    lilt  DESERT. 


|n  %  gcscrt. 


(HIM  TBI  UPIS1E.1CB  OF  4  WILL- 1  SOW*  TEA  1 

SLOWLY,  slowly,  and  wearily 

In  the  desert  while  they  wander. 
The  promised  wells  are  not  yet  in  riew, 

And  the  sun  is  sinking  yonder : 
Ah,  when  shall  we  reach  our  distant  goal  ? 

They  bitterly  ask,  and  ponder. 

Mutely  the  Arab  sits  ' 

On  his  camel,  weak  and  weary, 
(Silence  best  his  despair  befits,) 

Nor  from  that  mood  doth  vary ; 
More  like  a  corpse  than  a  living  man. 

Sits  he  on  his  dromedary. 

Still  in  the  air,  and  hot  the  sun  : 

A  death-like  solemn  repose 
Pervades  the  sky  and  the  desert  dun. 

While  the  fainting  caravan  goes, 
Like  a  phantom,  silently  o'er  the  sand 

That  fire-like  around  it  glows. 

Thirsting,  and  scorched  by  the  sun's  red  beams, 

On  his  camel  the  traveler  sits : 
Dreams  delude  him — delightful  dreams, 

That  dazzle  his  'wildered  wits; 
While  the  desert  landscape,  dismally  dull. 

Like  a  mist  before  him  flits. 


IN  THE  DESERT.  69 


Oaks,  that  grow  on  his  native  hills, 
Rustle  and  sigh  in  his  ears ; 

The  odor  of  pines  his  nostril  fills, 
Their  murmurous  voice  he  hears ; 

While  afar  the  well-known  river  flows, 
And  shimmers,  and  disappears. 


Now,  through  the  glittering  foliage, 

He  sees  a  gay  rivulet  flash, 
And,  athirst  as  he  is,  through  the  woody  maze 

He  seems — ah !  but  seems — to  dash ; 
But  speed  as  he  will,  the  mocking  rill 

Flies  before  with  a  silvery  plash. 

Now  he  approaches  his  village  home  : 

In  his  heart  what  emotions  swell, 
As  he  hears  the  too-familiar  sound 

Of  the  merry  village  bell ! 
"'Tis  but  a  dream !"  the  traveller  groans; 

"'Tis  the  Afrite's  dreadful  spell !" 

He  breaks  from  the  charm  of  the  desert  dream, 

And  blindly  stares  around, 
As  his  Arab  guides,  with  wild  outcry, 

Proclaim  that  a  well  is  found, 
And  leap  from  their  fainting  camels  down 

With  frantic  joy  to  the  ground. 


70  IN  THE  DESERT. 


Then  thirsty  beast,  and  thirsty  man, 

Of  the  bitter  water  drink : 
With  panting  breasts  and  swelling  tongues, 

They  gather  'round  the  brink — 
Thankfully  filling  their  water  skins — 

As  the  stars  begin  to  blink. 


TO  MILLIE.  71 


THE  words  we  choose  with  greatest  art, 

Fail  much  too  often  to  express 

The  wish  for  others'  happiness, 
That  burns  and  struggles  in  the  heart. 

Thus  fail  my  words,  and  thus  my  pen. 
When  on  this  page's  spotless  face 
Some  earnest  wishes  I  would  trace, 

To  which  your  heart  will  say,  amen. 

For  you,  next  dearest  to  my  blood — 

As  mother  of  my  nieces,  fair, 

I  utter  one  continual  prayer — 
That  heaven  may  grant  you  every  good ! 

Be  yours  all  joys,  nor  be  they  brief, 
That  daughter,  sister,  mother,  wife, 
Can  hope  for  in  this  changeful  life, 

And  small  the  measure  of  your  grief! 

Be  like  the  gardener,  that  keeps 

His  tender  plants  with  wakeful  care. 
Fearful  lest  any  hurtful  air 

Should  blight  them  while  he  wakes  or  sleeps ! 


72 


To  MI  1. 1. IK. 


And  while,  like  him,  your  flowers  you  tend. 
Remember  they  but  ill  will  thrive. 
If  heaven  refuse  its  showers  to  g 

And  neither  rain  nor  sunshine  send ! 

So  watchful  ever,  prayful  too. 
May  you  yeur  tiny  buds  behold, 
With  each,  succeeding  day  unfold 

Graces  and  virtue*  wer  new  ! 

What  greater  joy  could  crown  your  age 
Than  this — to  know  that  you  had  proved 
A  mother  kind,  a  wife  beloved, 

Through  all  life's  toilsome  pilgrimage  ? 

Be  yours  the  bliss  in  coming  days. 
With  beating  heart  and  joy-lit  eyes. 
To  see  your  grateful  children  rise 

To  bless  your  name,  and  speak  your  praise ! 


TO  THE  WIND.  73 


inb. 


To  THEE  the  merchant  trusts  his  ships 
That  o'er  the  salty  waters  glide ; 

To  thee  the  flowers  their  odors  trust, 
To  thee  their  winged  seeds  confide. 

/ 

To  thee  the  traveling  spiders  spread 

Their  gleaming  strands,  and  speed  away ; 

On  thee  the  migratory  birds 
Their  weary  pinions  gladly  lay. 


To  thee  the  clouds,  like  mariners, 
Their  fleecy  sails  with  joy  expand  ; 

While  each  in  turn,  upon  thy  wings, 
The  seasons  haste  from  land  to  land. 


Giver  art  thou  of  wealth  and  health, 
And  giver  thou  of  life  and  death  ; 
For  oft  the  unseen  pestilence 


Is  wafted  on  thy  fatal  breath. 


Now  would  I  praise  thee,  now  condemn  : 
But  while  I  pause,  the  green  leaves  shake, 

Seeming,  with  murmurous  voice  to  say  — 
"  All  this  is  well  for  nature's  sake  !" 

10 


74  TO  THE  WIND. 


"  In  everything  around  you  see 
The  evil  mingled  with  the  good: 

A  mystery  of  God  and  time — 

Long  known,  yet  never  understood. 


TO  A  CRICKET. 


£0  a  Critfd. 


You  surely  are  a  happy  thing. 
For  every  night  you  sing 

That  same  shrill  song  of  joy  ; 
You  never  can  feel  any  pain, 
Nor  have  a  thought  to  vex  your  brain, 

Nor  care  to  make  annoy. 

You  sit  close  covered  in  the  grass, 
(I  cannot  see  you  as  I  pass,) 

And  chant  incessantly;' 
Yet  none  of  those  who  stalk  along 
Will  give  attention  to  your  song, 

Except  some  wight  like  me. 

Indeed,  you  must  a  lover  be, 

Or  you  would  scarcely  sing  as  free 

As  every  night  you  do ! 
And  since  your  voice  is  never  mute, 
I  judge  you  prosper  in  your  suit — 

A  lucky  insect  you !  . 

I  'm  certain  you  're  not  wedded  yet ; 
For  where 's  the  husband  who  will  set 

To  singing  for  his  wife  ? 
He  '11  praise  her  fondly  ere  she 's  won, 
But  when  the  honey-moon  is  gone — 

Call  her  the  pest  of  life. 


To  A  CKH'Ki;i. 


No  ;  you  're  a  jolly  bachelor, 
Preparing  all  your  implies  for 

The  heart  of  some  young  dear ; 
And  if  you  '11  chirp  each  summer  eve 
As  now  you  do,  why,  I  hclirvt •. 

Your  day  of  triumph 's  near  ! 

Then  sing  away,  and  if  I  could 
Assist  your  cause  'tis  plain  I  would, 

But  that  I  ne'er  can  do ; 
You've  in  the  cricket  language  sung — 
I  cannot  understand  that  tongue, 
-ir,  good  night  to  you  ! 


THE  WORLD  A  GARDEN.  77 


880rfb  a  (Sarbtn. 

5 

THEY  say  this  world  a  garden  is, 

Wherein  at  will  we  stray, 
And  pluck  the  abundant  fruits  and  flowers 

That  border  all  the  way. 

Here  crimson-cheeked  fruits  invite 

The  all-desiring  taste, 
That  leave  a  poison  on  the  lips, 

Or  in  the  fingers  waste. 

On  either  hand,  anear,  afar, 

Before  our  dazzled  eyes 
A  multitude  of  brilliant  flowers 

Like  constellations  rise. 

And  some  there  are  so  bright,  they  seem 

To  laugh  the  stars  to  scorn; 
Which  bear  on  every  little  stem 

A  sharp  and  venomed  thorn. 

They  represent  each  human  wish — 

The  thirst  for  fame  or  gold  ; 
All  passions,  be  they  good  or  ill, 

Their  emblems  here  behold. 


7s-  THK  WORLD  A  GARDEN. 


For  transient  as  the  flowers  they  art-. 

And  poisonous  as  the  fruit ; 
A  nd  few  good  passions  or 

In  human  hearts  take  root. 

Among  too  many  wild  or  base, 

Exists  one  passion  pure — 
A  plant  that  yields  but  healthful  fruit — 

That  we  may  all  secure. 

And  that  is  love — the  love  sincere, 

That  never  groweth  cold: 
That  is  not  by  a  bubble  won, 

Nor  for  a  bubble  sold: 

That  cheers  the  heart  for  which  it  burns, 

'Till  all  of  life  be  past ; 
And  brighter  glows,  and  warmer  grows — 

All  sunshine  to  the  last. 


EVALEEN.  79 


(Sbahen. 

(A  BALLAD.) 

THE  moon  was  up ;  the  night  was  fair — 
A  lovelier  night  was  never  seen ! ' 

She  kissed  her  sleeping  child,  that  lay 
Full  in  the  moon's  soft  sheen  : 

While  tears  fell  frequent  on  its  cheeks — 
Ah,  wretched  Evaleen  ! 

Tears  fell  upon  its  cheeks :  she  feared 
They  might  arouse  the  child ; 

And  turned  away  her  aching  head, 
As  in  its  sleep  it  smiled, 

Unconscious  of  its  mother's  pangs — 
The  pangs  of  the  beguiled. 

Fair  Evaleen  has  veiled  her  face — 

Her  face  that,  blushing,  burns ; 
SW  flies  the  couch  and  the  dear  child, 
.    To  whom  her  bosom  yearns : 
Smothers  the  nobler  love  within, 
And  from  her  infant  turns. 

Her  feet  the  outer  threshold  press — 

Her  lover  waits  below : 
And  now  she  breathes  the  open  air — 

Her  heart  heaves  to  and  fro : 
Her  struggling  conscience  bids  her  stay, 

But  passion  cryeth,  go  ! 


A  fearful  pause!  the  very  -tar- 

Seem  pausing  in  the  ski< 
Hark!  from  the  village  church  below, 

Softly  and  sweetly  ri.-e 
Tin-  chanting  of  the  choristers, 

Ami  fill  with  tears  her  (•• 

* 

At  once,  she  sinks  upon  her  knees — 

Her  lips  the  hymn  rej* 
The  exiled  love  comes  bark  again — 

The  bliss  serene,  complete ; 

And  saved  from  sin  and  shame,  -he  flies 

m 
The  slumbering  child  t<>  gi 

She  clasps  the  infant  to  her  brea-t ; 

A  holy,  grateful  calm 
Descends  upon  her  troubled  soul ; 

Whilst,  like  a  heavenly  balm. 
Softly  into  her  aching  heart 

Sinks  that  sweet  evening  psalm. 


THE  PETITION  OF  THE  BIRDS.  81 


ftjp  ftiitioit  of  %  $irbs. 


(IX  AN  APRIL  SHOWER.) 

WINTER  again  invades  our  skies, 

And  drives  forth  from  our  leafless  haunts, 

With  surly  blast,  and  blinding  snow, 
We  woodlands'  winged  occupants, 

That  now  come  trooping  to  your  doors, 
And  chirp  our  tale  of  wants. 

0  false,  delusive  April  days ! 

Ye  cheated  us  with  sunny  show ; 
Ye  called  the  insects  from  their  cells, 

And  bade  the  fragrant  violets  blow ; 
Ye  bade  us  build  our  nests,  but  now 

Ye  bury  them  in  snow. 

Lo,  starving,  from  our  homes  we  fly, 
Pursued  by  an  unpitying  wind, 

To  the  thick-peopled  city  hie, 
And  hope  amid  its  streets  to  find 

Some  charitable  soul — some  friend 

)  -v 

To  sympathy  inclined. 

First  we  address  our  simple  prayer 
To  you,  sweet  children,  full  of  glee, 

That  from  the  curtained  window  watch 
The  snow-flakes,  falling  fast  and  free, 

Like  showers  of  lilies.     Ye  are  fair, 

And  so  should  gentle  be. 
11 


82  THE  PETITION  OF  THE  BIRI»>. 


Come,  scatter  us  some  useless  crumbs ! 

Think  of  the  famished  multitude 
That  this  untimely  winter  blast 

Hath  driven  from  their  native  wood; 
Think  of  our  misery,  little  friends, 

And  scatter  us  some  food  ! 

A  little  will  supply  onr  nee«l, 

And  you'll  not  miss  it  from  your  sum- : 
While  for  the  charitable  deed, 

We  choristers  shall  evermore, 

. 
Deep  in  the  green  woods'  pleasant  shade, 

Our  hymn  of  thanks  outpour. 

So  that  whene'er  your  playful  feet 
Shall  stray  the  echoing  groves  among, 

Far  from  the  city's  dust  and  heat, 
Our  gay  salutatory  song 

Will  charm  your  ears,  and  in  your  hearts 
Make  pleasant  fancies  throng. 


THE  TRULY  GREAT  MAN.  83 


falg  irat  Pan. 


HE  is  indeed  a  king ;  nay,  emperor, 

Who,  in  the  microcosm  of  his  soul, 

Keeps  all  his  subjects  under  due  control ; 
Who  lets  not  fiery  anger  overpower 

His  fixed  judgment,  bending  it  to  ill, 
Nor  flattering  passion,  with  persuasive  voice, 
Disturb  his  sturdy  spirit's  equipoise. 

No  base  desires  gain  mastery  .o'er  his  will, 
But  every  failing  yields  to  just  restraints. 

Hatred  and  envy  are  alike  expressed, 
While  love  and  charity — fair  sister  saints — 

Warm  with  their  holy  influence  his  breast : 
Superior  far  to  fortune's  smile  or  frown, 
He  reigns,  lord  of  himself — a  king  without  a  crown  ! 


84  TO  A  !  AN  \i.Y   BIRD. 


(To  a  (L  anarn 


THESE  mild  blue  .-kies,  and  >oftc>t  cluuds  that  float 

Gently  along  the  Minny  atmosphere. 
Tempt  thee  to  warble  forth  thy  richest  note, 
Thou  blithe  young  songster  of  the  early  year ; 

And  now  the  long-confined  melody, 
Which  winter  froze  within  thy  feathered  throat, 
Pours  on  us  like  a  very  sea. 

Thou  did-st  nut  fly  upon  a  pilgrimage, 

With  the  free-winged  birds  to  some  far  forest. 
When  first  the  troubled  winds  began  to  rage, 
And  settled  gloominess,  which  thou  abhorrest, 

Came  lowering  down  upon  the  desolate  earth — 
For  thou  wert  held  a  captive  in  yon  cage, 
And  mute  was  all  thy  May-day  mirth. 

Perchance  in  murky  winter  thou  hadst  dreams 

Of  summer  skies,  and  of  a  playful  breeze 
That  bent  the  flowers  and  ruffled  the  full  streams. 
And  shook  the  dewy  foliage  of  the  trees 

That  clustered  round  the  twittering  sparrow's  nest, 
And  of  the  light  that  stole  in  golden  gleams 
Through  yon  bar'd  door  upon  thy  breast. 


TO  A  CANARY  BIRD.  85 


Joy  comes  to  thee  with  spring  from  balmy  seas, 

In  the  soft  South,  where  years  do  never  vary; 
And  there  are  whispers  wafted  on  the  breeze, 
That  tell  us  of  the  sunny,  far  Canary, 

Where  dwell  thy  many  yellow,-winged  brethren, 
Who  all  day  long  give  forth  their  melodies — 
Flitting  the  shadowy  vales  together  in. 

Yet  thou  art  so  familiar  with  thy  prison, 

Sweet  little  minion,  that  thou  sighest  not, 
But  chantest  to  the  sun  when  he  has  risen, 
As  though  thou  wert  delighted  with  thy  lot ; 

Meanwhile  thy  gentle  mate  sits  listening  by, 
And  doth  herself  in  gayest  plumes  bedizen, 
To  captivate  thee  through  thine  eye. 

Hadst  thou  a  soul,  as  earth's  best  children  have, 

Ere  this  thou  wouldst  have  murdered  it  with  fretting ; 
Thou  wouldst  not  thus  have  lingered,  joyous  slave, 
All  former  sweetest  liberty  forgetting,. 

And  clinging  to  the  bars  that  hold  thee  there  ; 
But  thy  light  heart  had  broken  with  regretting 
That  fate  which  kept  thee  from  the  air. 


86  THE  OCEAN'S  ARCH  IT 


(Tljc  (Ocean's  ^tcbitctts. 

TIII:UE  are  some  architects  beneath  the  sea, 
That,  laboring  unseen  from  year  to  year, 
From  out  the  salty  slime  and  sand  uprem- 

A  fabric  of  the  rarest  masonry. 

Deep  in  the  ocean  its  foundation  rests ; 
The  mighty  billows  smite  its  side  in  vain : 
While  winds  waft  to  it,  o'er  the  yesty  main. 

Trees  they  have  torn  from  distant  mountain  crests, 
And  gather  'round  it  the  oft-ravished  soil 

Of  shores  remote,  'till,  lo !  it  grows  to  be 
A  green  spot,  'mid  the  waves — another  isle ! 
So  there  are  souls  whose  still  unnoted  toil 

Plants  oases  in  time's  loud  surging  sea, 

Where  we  poor  mariners  may  pause  and  rest  awhile. 


THE  VESPER  BELL.  87 


tt     t. 

(8UGGEST£D  BY  A  PICTCBB  OF  A  PEASANT  FAMILY  IN  THEIR  BOAT  UPON  THE  LAKE.) 

How  gently  o'er  the  lake  our  boat  doth  glide, 
The  only  speck  upon  its  quiet  breast ; 

The  mellowing  moonlight  melts  upon  the  tide, 
And  all  below  is  calm  and  hushed  to  rest : 

Ave  Maria,  lovely  is  the  night; 

Heaven  send  us  many  more,  and  all  as  bright ! 

There  stand  the  hills  our  earliest  childhood  knew, 
All  yet  unchanged  and  beautiful  to  me ; 

And  there 's  the  sky,  a  cape  of  cloudless  blue, 
And  here  the  pleasant  lake,  a  mimic  sea : 

Ave  Maria,  lovely  is  the  night ; 

Heaven  send  us  many  more,  and  all  as  bright ! 

But  cease  the  song,  and  stay  the  dipping  oar, 

And  clasp  the  hands  to  breathe  an  evening  prayer ; 

And  list  the  sound  that  cometh  from  the  shore — 
The  Vesper  Bell  is  chiming  on  the  air : 

Ave  Maria,  lovely  is  the  night ; 

Heaven  send  us  many  more,  and  all  as  bright ! 

We  have  had  sorrows,  manifold  and  great, 

But  they  are  gone,  like  shadows  from  the  heaven ; 

Joys  we  have  had,  to  make  our  hearts  elate, 
And  sins  we've  done,  but  now  are  all  forgiven : 

Ave  Maria,  lovely  is  the  night ; 

Heaven  send  us  many  more,  and  all  as  bright ! 


SS  TH!:  VK-I'KK  BELL. 

_ 

The  turf  is  laid  above  our  fairest  child — 
We  miss  his  little  blue  and  innocent  eyes  ; 

And  when  we  think  how  sweet  he  spoke  and  smiled, 
Tc.-irs  wet  our  cheeks,  and  many  nn-  our  M._rlis : 

Ave  Maria,  Heaven's  will  be  done ; 

It  gave  and  took  away  the  gentle  one  ! 

Yet  are  we  happy  with  our  earthly  lot ; 

Our  store  is  small,  we  would  not  have  it  more ; 
And  yonder  lies  our  home — a  little  cot, 

Half  hid  in  blossoms,  by  the  lake's  green  shore  : 
Ave  Maria,  lovely  is  the  night ; 
Heaven  send  us  many  more,  and  all  as  bright ! 

But  hark  !  and  now  the  vesper  tolls  no  more, 
And  we  have  offered  up  our  evening  prayer; 

Again  we  drop  the  gently  quivering  oar 

In  the  clear  deep,  for,  lo !  our  home  is  there  : 

Ave  Maria,  lovely  is  the  night ; 

Heaven  send  us  many  more,  and  all  as  bright ! 


TO  THE  SKA. 


BEAUTIFUL  sea,  that  lookest  as  if 
Thou  wouldst  not  harm  a  fisherman's  skift', 
0  how  I  love  in  a  wing'd  boat 
Over  thy  surface  of  glass  to  float ! 

Out  on  thy  breast,  while  lifting  the  oar, 
Back  can  I  gaze  to  the  distant  shore : 
Scanning  the  outline,  dusty  and  rude, 
Of  hill,  and  valley,  and  shadowy  wood. 

Close  by  the  beach  the  fisher's  hut  stands; 
His  frail  bark  lies  exposed  on  the  sands, 
And  the  intricate  nets,  now  his  toil  is  done, 
Are  spread  to  be  bleached  by  the  noon-day's  sun ! 

Yet,  though  thou  seemest  so  powerless  and  still. 
That  a  child  might  navigate  thee  at  will. 
Yet,  though  thou  seemest  so  calm,  ()  sen, 
Thou  art  the  symbol  of  treachery  ! 

For,  when  thou  sweepest  along  in  thy  strength, 
( 

Thy  dark  surges  shake  the  shore's  vast  length ; 
\  i 

Like  straws  in  the  wind,  thou  whirlest  the  stout 

^  .  Iron-bound  ships  o'er  thy  deeps  about ! 

. 
Awful  art  thou  whenever  the  storm 

Doth  thy  resplendent  expanse  deform, 

Yet  lovlier  than  all  things  else  art  thou, 

i 
When  reposing  in  silence  as  now  ! 

12 


!»0  SONG  OF  TIIK  WAVES. 


*onq  of  tljr 


Tin:  waves  are  singing  to  the  shorv. 
As  tlicy  kiss  it  evermore  — 

••  We  love  thee  !" 
On  they  rush  in  shining  bands, 
Rippling  o'er  the  yellow  sands, 
Whilr  their  lay  ia  evermore, 

As  of  yore  — 

••  We  love  thee.  0  shore  !' 

You  may  hear  their  silvery  song, 
As  they  brightly  glide  along  — 

"We  love  thee!" 
Thus  they  roll  exultingly 
From  the  far,  abounding  HM. 
Singing  sweetly  evermore, 

As  of  yore  — 

"  We  love  thee,  O  shore  !' 


TO  THE  HUDSON.  01 


(to  tl;c 


THE  majesty  of  waters  I  behold 
In  thee,  proud  river,  as,  to  southward  rolled. 
Move  thy  dark  floods,  bound  upon  either  hand 
By  dizzy  cliffs  or  rounded  hills,  where  stand 
The  steepled  towns  and  villages,  or  seat* 
Where  wealth  hath  builded  up  most  rare  retreats, 
From  the  rude  noise  of  cities  far.     Thou  art 
The  cherished  offspring  of  a  noble  line. 
The  vast  primeval  mountains  which  recline, 

In  their  gigantic  grandeur,  on  yon  clouds, 

Whence  roll  the  thunders  and  the  lightnings  dart, 
Oft  striking  earthward  many  a  goodly  pine, 

Whose  ragged  foliage,  as  a  vesture,  shrouds 
The  rocky  steeps.     Like  heated  Bachanals 

From  distant  hills,  the  brawling  rills  descend 
O'er  mossy  rocks,  with  many  foaming  falls, 

And  with  exulting  voices  wildly  wend 
To  thy  full  stream.     Proud  seemest  thou,  as  though 

The  infection  of  cold  European  pride 
Of  ancestry  had  touched  thee  in  thy  flow. 

And  made  thee  scorn  all  other  streams  beside 
Which  are  not  mountain-heirs  like  thee.     Enough  ! 

It  well  befits  thee  to  be  proud  and  free, 


92  TO  Tin:  in  DSON. 


Thut  so  them  maye>t  administer  ivproof 

To  all  who  love  the  chains  of  t  vraniiv. 
And  glory  in  the  gleam  of  golden  <-r<>wn>. 
Roll  onward,  preaching  to  tin-  manv  town- 
That  look  upon  thec  with  astonishment. 
As  did  of  old  the  mailed  knights,  who  bent 
Before  the  hermit's  maddening  eloquence — 
The  mighty  lesson — Liberty!  that  hem-t 
it  may  be  borne  across  the  eastern  seas, 
To  countries  where  imperial  palaces 
Stand  in  contempt  of  freedom,  and  the  millions 
Labor  to  decorate  the  proud  pavilions 
Of  royalty,  and  'mid  the  festive  songs 
Of  princes,  howl  the  story  of  their  wrongs, 
Meeting  with  scornful  answer.     Still  roll  on, 
And  may  thy  waters  look  to  me  anon 
As  grand  and  beautiful.     So  shall  my  song 
Be  bound  about  thee,  'as  of  old  the  boughs 
Of  laurel  on  the  victor's  burning  brows ; 
And  thou  shah  wear  the  honor  well  and  long, 
O  river  of  the  fri-f-l>nrn  and  the  st 


PALE  HERO.  93 


|)ale  |)ero. 

PALE  Hero  stood  beside  the  wave, 
On  eves  which  were  long  years  ago, 

And  Greek  Leander,  young  and  brave, 
Led  by  her  torch's  steady  glow, 

For  the  sweet  love  of  her,  was  wont 

To  swim  the  dangerous  Hellespont. 

So  thou  in  fancy  seemest  to  me 
To  stand  upon  a  distant  shore — 

To  hold  a  torch  above  the  sea 
And  beckon  me  to  venture  o'er  ; 

And  I,  confiding  in  thy  truth, 

Plunge  in  like  the  adventurous  youth. 

Yet,  when  Leander  reached  the  land, 
Hot  from  his  combat  with  the  deep. 

Fair  Hero  met  him  on  the  strand, 
And  fell  upon  his  breast  to  weep 

With  very  joy — and  burn  and  sigh 

With  love's  extreme  intensity. 

But  I,  with  many  a  doubt  distressed, 
Toil  fearful  on  the  imagined  sea, 


94  I'ALK  HERO. 


Lest  thou,  unwilling  to  be  pressed, 

Soon  as  I  near  the  shore,  should  flee- 
Should  in  the  waters  quench  thy  light, 
And  leave  me  unto  death  and  night. 

0,  wretched  fate!  to  gasp  in  vain, 

Then  sink  into  the  gulf  of  woe, 

Or,  sweltering,  float  upon  the  main, 


The  pale  limbs  heaving  to  and  fro, 
To  be,  though  heaven  be  bright  above, 
Dead  unto  life,  and  dead  to  love. 


ECHO.  95 


SWEET  Echo,  dweller  in  cavernous  mountains, 
Amid  dark  forests,  by  abounding  fountains, 
Much  loved  that  self-adoring  boy, 

The  fair  son  of  Cephisus, 
And  chased  his  footsteps  with  consuming  joy, 
Crying  aloud — Narcissus  ! 

But  vain  were  all  her  cries  and  all  her  wooing : 
The  youth  replied  not  to  the  nymph  pursuing, 
But  fled  from  her  desiring  gaze,  , 
Filling  her  heart  with  anguish ; 
Then,  like  a  flower  scorched  by  the  sun's  hot  rays, 
Echo  began  to  languish. 

Afar,  in  deepest  solitudes  reclining, 
She  hid  herself  from  woodland  maids,  repining  : 
Wasting  the  day  with  idle  'plaint — 

With  unavailing  sorrow ; 
And  every  day  her  beauty  grew  more  faint — 
More  pale  by  every  morrow. 


s 
96 


At  last,  out-worn  by  grief  and  passion  violent. 
Sweet  Echo  died  within  her  grotto  silent; 
Leaving  her  8tory  unto  fame. 

Her  voice  will  never  perish ; 
The  prattling  rocks  still  rattle  with  her  name — 
The  hills  her  memory  cherish. 


SONG.  97 


SINCE  to  thee  I  may  not  tell 
The  story  of  my  love, 

I  '11  sigh  it  to  the  stars, 

i 

And  the  moon  which  shines  above. 

> 

For  Dian  had  a  love 

For  the  fair  Endymion  : 
So  she  will  hear  my  voice, 

As  I  sigh  and  still  sing  on. 

And  the  stars,  though  high  they  be, 

Entertain  a  passion  still 
For  the  blue  waves  on  the  sea, 

And  the  river,  and  the  rill : 

j 
So  they  will  not  disdain 

The  story  of  my  love: 
They  're  too  fair  to  be  harsh, 
Too  gentle  to  reprove. 

( 
And  so  I  '11  sigh  for  thee ; 

My  passion  thus  I  '11  tell ; 
For  I  love  thee  tenderly — 
I  love  thee  passing  well ! 


13 


98  THI:  DEAD  SEA. 


A  CITY  lieth  in  the 

Full  many  a  fathom  deep  : 


Heneath  the  waters,  silently 

The  solid  temples  sleep  ; 
And  in  the  splendid  chambers,  nought 

Save  slimy  reptiles  creep. 

Scattered  about  in  street  and  dome. 

Lie  ancient  human  bones, 
The  relics  of  the  haughty  men 

Who  reared  those  stately  stoii 
And  sunk  to  death  so  suddenly 

» 

Earth  did  not  hear  their  groans. 

The  king  is  in  his  regal  hall : 

His  hands,  and  arms,  and  skull, 
'  Are  strown  upon  the  wave-washed  pave. 
And  tremble  in  the  dull 

Incumbent  waters,  when  they  break 
Their  melancholy  lull. 

The  grinning  skull  which  bore  the  crown 
Lies  stripped  of  all  its  state  ; 

Nerveless  the  fingers  are  which  clasped 
The  sceptre's  golden  weight, 

When  on  his  throne  the  monarch  sate 
Dispensing  human  fate. 


THE  DEAD  SEA.  99 


The  gaudy  courtiers,  where  are  they  ? 
Where  is  the  flattering  throng 

0  ^ 

Which  bowed  before  the  sovereign's  nod  ? 

Lo !  how  they  lie  along. 
Stark  dead — as  senseless  as  the  clod — 

Mock  of  the  gay  and  strong  ! 

• 

Who,  from  that  crumbling  mass  of  bones 
t 

Which  cover  all  the  floor, 
May  say  which  was  the  fairest  dame, 

And  which  the  diadem  wore  ? 
None,  none  can  tell !     Rest,  wretched  dead — 

Unknown  forevermore ! 

No  turf  was  laid  upon  their  graves, 

No  human  rites  were  read  ; 
An  ocean,  with  its  dismal  waves, 

Came  rolling  overhead ; 
And  in  one  awful  moment  swept 

The  living  to  the  dead. 

Down,  down  went  turret,  down  went  dome, 

Down  sunk  the  humble  cot ; 
The  haughty  lord,  the  vassal  mean, 

Share^  the  same  fearful  lot ; 
And  where  th'  accursed  city  stood 

The  deep  lay  like  a  blot. 


100 


Till.   l'i:\l.  .-KA. 


A  dark,  a  deep,  a  dreadful  sea  ! 

Within  a  barren  waste 
It  sleeps,  an  awful  mystery — 

A  wonder  of  the  past  ; 
And  so  'twill  be  age  after  age — 

A  marvel  to  tin-  I;IM  '. 


PRAYER.  101 


SET  TO  MCSIC  IN  "  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REGIMENT." 

FATHER,  hear  thy  children's  prayer 
Let  it  not  be  spent  in  air, 
But  like  pleasing  incense  rise 
To  salute  thee  in  the  skies. 

Here  temptations  thick  assail : 
Let  them  not,  0  God,  prevail ; 
Be  thou  our  defender  still : 
Shield,  0  shield  from  every  ill. 

Low  thy  grace  we  supplicate  : 
We  are  weak,  but  thou  art  great; 
For  our  weakness  give  us  strength ; 
Take  us  to  thyself  at  length. 


102  TO  THE  EAGLE. 


(To  tbc  (f a 

(  O  • 

O  BROAD-WIN*;  ED  king  of  precipices  wondrous, 

Whose  home  is  on  the  storm-beleagured  mountains, 
How  dost  thou  soar  aloft  where  voices  thundrous 

Shake  the  alarmed  air,  and  ope  the  fountains 
Of  cloud-embosomed  rain  !  and  where  the  lightning 
Leaps  forth  with  frequent  hisses,  redly  brightening 

The  black  robe  of  the  tempest  ?     Thou  fearest  not 
When  all  the  fellows  of  the  atmosphere 

Seek,  upon  timorous  plumes,  some  sheltered  spot, 
Or  hide  them  in  their  shaking  nests  with  fear. 
A  lofty  calmness  is  thine  own,  proud  bird, 
Whose  shriek  above  conflicting  storms  is  hear* I. 
Unchangable  as  thine  own  cliffs  art  thou, 
Fearless  and  famous  through  the  past  and  now. 


FANCIES  ON  A  SEA  SHELL.  103 


Jfaimts  on  a  J5>ta  jsjjtli. 

\ 

THE  rose-lipped  shell  of  ocean, 

/ 
Wherever  it  may  be, 

Stills  hints  of  the  commotion 

And  the  thundering  of  the  sea. 
Place  it  to  thy  fearful  ear, 
Gentle-hearted  listener  : 
These  are  the  sounds  thou  'It  hear  : 

Hear  the  roar  !  hear  the  clash  ! 

> 

Of  the  surges  as  they  dash 

On  the  rock-girdled  shore  ! 
Hear  the  howl  of  the  roused  storm 
As  he  stalks  —  a  terrible  form  ! 
His  feet  on  the  deep,  and  his  hands  in  heaven, 
Where  the  cloudy  mass  is  riven 

With  lightnings  fierce  and  swift. 
Lo  !  the  sailors,  on  the  shrouds 
Lifted  high  into  the  clouds, 

Grasp  the  canvases  all  tattered  : 
No  pause  there  is  for  shrift 
Ere  they  are  hurled  adrift 

With  the  spars  all  tempest-shattered  ; 
And  deeper  in  the  blue 

Than  ever  sank  the  lead 
The  ship  sinks  with  her  crew  !  — 

So  the  living  seek  the  dead  ! 


104  i  LNOnca  <>N  A  SI-:A 


Such  the  vision  is  which  vi 

Before  thy  fancy'.-  c\ 
Such  tin-  tnniiilt  which  surj>: 

The  soul,  which  listening.  lie- 
In  that  sympathetic  hr 
When  the  ocean-shell  i<  pre.— e.|. 
0  gentle  listener, 
To  thy  ivory  white  car. 
But  listen  once  again  1 

A  sweeter  sound  thou'lt  hear, 
Hinting  of  a  quiet  main. 

And  a   nn-rry  gondolier, 
Singing  as  he  glideth  home. 

With  liis  paddle  keeping  time 

To  the  cadences  of  rhyme, 
While  it  streaks  the  wave  with  f'..am. 
O  the  sorrows  of  the  sea  ! 

( *  its  pleasures  !  0  its  glatlu- 
They  should  teach  this  truth  to  thcc 

That  earth  is  full  of  sadn« 
And  the  only  place  where  sorrow 

Has  never  yet  held  sway, 
(  hirsclves  may  see  to-morrow. 

So  far,  O,  far  away  ! 


RHYMES  FOR  MAY.  105 


for  Ulan. 


and  pleasant  showers, 
Gay  birds  and  gentle  flowers — 

These  make  the  spring ; 
And  the  balm  wind  of  the  South, 
Which,  from  some  cavern's  mouth, 
Breathes  forth  with  double  vigor, 

Enlivens  everything 
Which  the  winter's  icy  rigor 
Bound  in  fetters  admantine, 
When  the  warring  winds  were  vaunting 
Of  their  strength  furiously. 
Budding  flowers  and  leafy  trees 

Beautiful  are  ye ! 
Sunbeams  and  gliding  streams 

Bright  ye  are  and  free ! 
Ye  are  given  unto  all ; 

To  the  begging  wretch,  who  lags 

On  our  doorsteps  in  his  rags, 

And  to  misery-wrinkled  hags, 
And  the  rich  man  in  his  hall : 
Ye  are  given,  boons  from  heaven, 
Unto  all ; 

Yet  who  of  those  receiving 
Thank  the  Giver  as  they  should — 
Thank  the  "  Giver  of  all  Good?" 

14 


106  A  CLASSIC  80N<;  '"I    WINTER. 


(f  lassie  ^on   of  cOlinttr. 


CLOUDS  are  darkling  in  the  sky, 
Leaves  upon  the  trees  hang  dry, 
And  the  wind  howls  dismally. 

Beauty  and  life  are  gone 
With  flowers  the  summer  sun 


Looked  amorously  upon. 


Daughter  of  Ceres  divine, 
Why  goest  thou,  Proserpine, 
To  that  dreary  realm  of  thine? 


O,  \\-\\\  ili'xi-rt  us  now 

To  winds  that  freezingly  blow, 

To  frosts  and  earth-covering  snow? 

Ah,  thou  lovest  us  not  as  well 
As  thou  lovest  the  king  of  hell  ; 
Therefore  hiddest  thou  us  farewell  ! 

Now,  I  hear  thy  parting  swell  : 

"  Fare  ye  well,  and  fare  ye  well  !"  — 

Fainting  like  sounds  in  a  rocky 


A  CLASSIC  SONG  OF  WINTER. 


107 


Farewell — if  it  must  be  so ! 
Farewell — if  thou  wilt  thus  go ! 
We  '11  bear,  as  we  may,  our  woe. 

Gladsomely  we  '11  remember. 
Beside  the  sparkling  ember, 
The  year  is  not  all  December. 


So  we  '11  be  blithe  and  gay  :  . 
Merry  we  '11  grow  as  we  may — 
Singing  some  roundelay. 

We  '11  fill  to  the  brim  each  cup ; 
With  Bacchic  juice  fill  up, 
And  cheerily  we  '11  sup. 


We  '11  sing — we  '11  dance — we  '11  quaff; 
We  '11  daint'ly  feast ;  we  '11  laugh, 
Reading  the  year's  epitaph. 

We  '11  sing  in  our  rustic  rhyme, 
How  he  died — the  son  of  time — 
In  his  dotage,  not  in  his  prime. 

How  his  blood  was  cold  and  thin ; 
How  his  eyes  were  sunken  in ; 
How  gaunt  he  was,  cheek  and  chin. 


108  A  CLA.-Slc  SM.M;  m    \\IMI.I;. 


>But  iny  song  thy  jiatic-ncc 
Fill  the  beakers  bright,  and  here  is 
A  health  to  the  daughter  of  Ceres ! 

Come  with  the  spring-days  back, 
0  goddess  ;  nor  let  there  be  lack 
Of  flowers  and  fruits  in  thy  track  ! 

Honor  to  thee,  Proserpine  ! 
Honor  to  thee  and  to  thine  1 
Honors  and  praisos  divine  ! 


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